


The Ghosts We Knew

by x_rose



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Family Drama, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Murder, Organized Crime, Other, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slightly Dark Hvitserk, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_rose/pseuds/x_rose
Summary: After the murder of his late father, the last thing Hvitserk Ragnarsson is concerned about is another year of high school. With the family business being coveted by outsiders and old faces emerging from the shadows, the once 'perfect' life Hvitserk lived is shattering around him.Anya Sigvardsdottir spent the summer with psychiatrists and white walls, while most assumed she was visiting her father in Iceland. She can barely look at her own reflection in the mirror, let alone face her so called friends.But after everything they still didn't expect to spend the year in the company of one another. Especially like this.





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting on this website or in this fandom. There will probably be mistakes and clichés, but I've really been working on improving my writing. I also love Vikings and the family dynamics introduced in the earlier seasons of the show. Enjoy reading and feel free to comment with opinions!

_“So give me hope in the darkness,_

_that I will see the light._

_'Cause oh that gave me such a fright._

_But I will hold as long as you like._

_Just promise me we'll be alright.”_

_\--Mumford and Sons_

            A loud knock at the bedroom door woke him with a start. Head pounding from the Jack Daniels Ubbe stole from the liquor cabinet the night before. It wasn’t the first bottle they drank during that summer—and it wouldn’t be the last as the seasons began to change. He wasn't looking forward to spending the day shuffling from classroom to classroom, listening to the same monotony that occurred every first day of school. Not when his father’s body was still warm in the cold Earth

            “Hvitserk.” Ubbe’s gruff voice filled his ears.

            “Yeah?” His voice slightly cracked from a parched throat.  

            “We’re leaving in thirty minutes.” His brother’s voice carried as his footsteps echoed away from the doorframe.

            A sigh escaped his chapped lips, bloodshot eyes focused on the old stars stuck on the ceiling from when he was a child. Siggy insisted on her and Hvitserk spending an entire afternoon with their tiptoes on the mattress, sticking the small stars onto the ceiling. Something to keep him busy while Aslaug spent all her time on Ivar. The world was different then. Filled with possibilities and adventures lurking on every corner. His father constantly bringing back gifts from his travels abroad. Now the world was small and cruel. Filled with leeches that sucked away until their bellies were round with the blood of their enemies.

            He rose slowly, the room spinning viciously around him as his feet touched the carpet. It would be a miracle if he didn’t become sick before they arrived. Especially with Ubbe’s erratic driving, and Ivar’s constant scrutiny of it. He placed his head in his hands, thoughts drifting to the inevitable day before him.

            After this year he would have one year left of school, and then he’d be able to leave the town of Kattegat and everyone in it. Except maybe Ubbe. Perhaps the two of them would get an apartment in a foreign city and change their names. Anything was better than seeing the same faces and walking the same halls every year. This year they would all look at him with pity. The pretty, rich boy with the perfect parents, and the perfect house overlooking the sea. Little did any of them know he almost drowned in that very sea all those years ago. The ice cracking beneath his feet the same way his family had fallen apart in front of him.

            A large hand reached for the towel draped over his desk chair. Hvitserk threw the crimson fabric over his bare shoulder and grabbed some clean clothes from atop the pile on his dresser. The bedroom door slammed behind him as he made his way to the bathroom across the hall.

 

            “I don’t need that stupid wheelchair, mother. It only takes up more room.” Ivar’s complainants reached Hvitserk from the top of the staircase.

            “You’ve never spent an entire day with your crutches before. It’s too much of a risk, Ivar.”

            His little brother dramatically rolled his eyes at their mother as Hvitserk stepped into the kitchen. It wasn’t anything new. Every year his mother doted and coddled Ivar on the first day of school. Worried if the school had this or that available for him. Hvitserk knew from the furrow of her brow, and the short tone of her voice that she was worried more than usual. Especially with him entering the high school for the first time. Even though he’d be attending school with his elder brothers, it wouldn’t bring her any ease. Not when he was out of her sight for hours on end—and after everything that happened with their father only months before.

            “Why don’t you bring the wheelchair in case your arms get sore?” Ubbe suggested, his fork digging into the eggs on his plate.

            “Yeah that way you won’t give mother an aneurism when you fall on your face again.” Sigurd hissed. A cynical smile tugged against his lips as Ubbe let out an exasperated sigh.

            “You shut your mouth!” Hvitserk nearly dropped the bowl of cereal he just poured at the sound of Ivar’s rage.

            A twisted grin covered Sigurd’s face. “Come on Ivar, you’re lucky she’s even letting you go to school at all. She doesn’t even trust you enough to ride with us.”

            “Boys.” Aslaug’s voice held only a fraction of the confidence one would have when scolding her children.

            Taking a seat beside Ubbe and Sigurd, Hvitserk kept his eyes on the bowl below him. He knew better than to catch Ivar’s fiery gaze across the table. It was clockwork now, the way Ivar and Sigurd would bicker like crows fighting over a fresh mouse. Ivar would pick a fight with any of them, and he knew it was best to keep his head down when dealing with his youngest brother.

            “Tell him to stay out of my business then.” Ivar mumbled.

            Sigurd made a face at his brother, only to receive a kick from Hvitserk under the table. His eyes like daggers and his head pounding from the incessant bickering. Nursing a hangover was twice as difficult when in the presence of his family.

            Aslaug‘s voice reminded him warm honey as it softly filled the air. “I will let you use your crutches, but I am bringing the chair to keep with the nurses. If your arms get tired or the pain is too awful then you can go there and get relief.”

            Ivar scoffed. “Whatever.”

            Ubbe’s gaze wandered to his phone before he rose from his seat toward the sink. He nudged Hvitserk’s back, motioning toward the door. “We gotta get going, we’re gonna be late.”

            Hvitserk piled the last of the cereal into his mouth before mimicking Ubbe’s actions. He wiped a stray droplet of milk from the corner of his chin before muttering goodbyes to his mother and Ivar. Unlike his other brothers Hvitserk found it difficult to evoke any emotion around them. It could have been the fact that they all held strong personalities, while he had always been more intuitive. Or that he always held a spark of resentment for the way Ubbe led them like their father, or how Sigurd could capture a crowd of any size with his singing voice, and the way Aslaug’s eyes lit like stars whenever Ivar entered a room. It left Hvitserk in the background, something he had grown used to. But something he had never forgotten.

            “Good luck today, brother.” Ubbe ruffled his hand through Ivar’s locks causing the other boy to sneer and playfully shove him away.

            Sigurd clicked his tongue impatiently, grabbing Ubbe’s keys along with his backpack. His eyes narrowed at Hvitserk hovering by the doorway.

            “You look like shit.”

            “Look in the mirror brother, you have more braids in your hair than father’s first wife.” Hvitserk retorted.

            An awkward silence filled the air at the mention of Ragnar. Sudden dread churned in Hvitserk’s stomach realizing it had been the first time he mentioned their father aloud in conversation since the funeral. It left a bitter taste on his tongue, and silence from Sigurd for the first time all morning.

            “Alright lets get out of here.” Ubbe tore the keys from Sigurd’s grasp and pushed past them at the door.

            Hvitserk shared one last long glance at his brother before following Ubbe out the door. Alsaug’s goodbyes lost in the sound of the door slamming against the frame.

 

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

 

            “Look who’s alive!” Ragga screeched as Anya opened the door to her car.       

            With a slight smirk Anya rolled her eyes at her friend. “It was only for two months.”

            “I don’t care.” The other girl retorted. “It was more like two years without you.”

            A chuckle escaped Anya’s lips as she placed her bag on the floor and shut the car door. Her crimson curls were tied into a braid that nearly reached the belt on her waist. She pulled the door shut and pulled her friend into a hug over the gearshift. Like a switch being turned on, her mood immediately changed the moment Ragga’s car parked outside her mother’s house. It was only a minute of fake smiles and white lies and she already felt drained.

            “So, how was Iceland? I want to know everything you did with your dad this summer, because I didn’t do anything nearly as exciting.”

            As if on cue the lies flowed easily from Anya’s lips “It was beautiful. I’m glad I got to get away for a few months.”

            “I know.” Ragga replied, as she pulled onto the road to school. “I need to see pictures today during free period.”

            A knot suddenly built in Anya’s throat. Cursing herself for not finding some random pictures on the Internet to show her friends. Not that she had the skills to photoshop a picture of her and her father in front of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano. Anya also cursed herself for not remembering to make up a lie about how she’d be missing free period to go to group counseling every day. Another ingenious idea her mother came up with for the new school year.

            “So what exactly _weren’t_ you doing this summer.” Anya quickly found another subject to focus on.

            Ragga’s demeanor suddenly changed to less enamored as she settled into the seat. Biting down into her lower lip in thought, Anya certainly didn’t expect her to have to think everything through.

            “Really nothing happened?” Anya pressed.

            “Well, one thing happened I guess.”

            A slight flush reddened her friend’s complexion. Anya could tell from the sudden change in her friend that it was more along the lines of _someone_ and not something, which happened.

            Anya raised a curious brow. “And what was that?”

            “I slept with Ubbe Ragarsson.”

            Anya no longer had to manifest a mock reaction in the conversation. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at Ragga’s confession. How long had Ubbe been the unattainable guy a grade above them? The one with the piercing blue eyes, and long braid that ran down his back. But more importantly, he was infamously known for dating the same girl since middle school.

            “But Margrethe—“

            Ragga cut her off. “They broke up. Right after his dead was found dead in some hotel in England. I guess he just didn’t want to deal with a relationship on top of it all. Then there was also a rumor going around that she slept with Hvit—“

            “Wait when did his dad die?” Anya’s mind began to race. Though she had grown up knowing the four boys who lived in the house at the top of the hill, she didn't know nearly as much as others. As a child she remembered her fathering often driving up there and having a drink with Ragnar and his brother who had all been business partners at the time. During that time she endured Hvitserk tugging on the strands of her hair and boasting about how fire grew from her scalp. Or how Sigurd would sit with his hands covering his ears as Ivar wailed from upstairs.

            But since then she hardly spoke to any of them outside of a party. Her father had long left the country, and with it her family’s relationship with Ragnar’s. Sometimes her thoughts drifted to Hvitserk with his small hands embedded in her hair, but then she’d only see the boy with a long face and empty blue eyes.           

            “You were already in Iceland,” Ragga began. “But how didn’t you hear about it? It was everywhere. They think it was murder or something.” Ragga waved her free hand dismissively. “Anyways so that happened, and then there was this party at Andrik Bardsson’s house a few weeks later. I went with Torhild, and we didn’t expect anything to come of it. But then we started talking about the football season coming up in the fall, and then we just kept drinking. One thing led to another and—I don’t know we just did it.”

           Her thoughts went to Ragga and Ubbe, a welcome distraction. Not that they would be an unlikely couple. Both attractive, with brown tresses and bright blue eyes. Each on the respective football teams for the school, and both familiar with one another for years. If anything it was surprising that it took this long.

            Anya’s emerald gaze fell back on Ragga. “Have you talked since?”

            “Actually, yes.” Ragga’s mouth tugged into a large grin. “I thought he would ignore me or something after. But we’ve been hanging out quite a bit. He even started helping me train to get noticed by universities. He’s probably going to play for one next year.”

            “Good. I’m glad you had something happen this summer after all.” Anya’s lips tugged into the first genuine smile she had all summer.

            Ragga’s voice interrupted her train of thought. “Can you believe we only have one more year after this?”

            “It can’t end soon enough.” Anya’s gaze fell into her lap.

            “Don’t say that. Once we leave for University you won’t get to see me everyday, and I bet that will make your life much worse.” Ragga countered.

            “Yeah Ragga, that will definitely be the worst day of my life.”

            The familiar sight of red brick and an endless line of cars and buses came into view. It felt as if a hundred years had passed since she last entered Kattegat High School. Just a few months ago she tore out like a hurricane, her mother in a fit of hysterics. She swore she’d never come back here. Staring at a white ceiling for two months was better than enduring another year in a town she despised. No amount of pills or ‘sessions’ could erase the black void eating away at her. Though maybe it was her fault for pretending to tolerate it all for so many years. Maybe everyone would have listened if she didn’t hide behind a mask since she was child.

            “Oh wow, speaking of Ubbe.” Ragga announced. Her eyes focused on the passenger window.

            Anya followed Ragga’s gaze, heat suddenly rising in her cheeks as she recognized the familiar black SUV that made the surrounding cars in the lot look like rust buckets.

            None of the passengers took notice of the two girls staring at them through the windows. Though Anya knew Ragga was focused on Ubbe joking with Sigurd in the front seat, Anya’s attention focused on the rear window. His hair had grown longer, just before summer he couldn’t quite tie it up yet. But now it sat in a bun on his head. His eyes were casted downward. Maybe immersed in his phone, or trying to ignore his brothers in the front seat.

            Ragga nudged her shoulder. “You coming? We’re gonna be late.”

            Anya nodded, her thoughts elsewhere as she tore her gaze from the boy and reached for her schoolbag.

            Stepping out of the car she turned back to the SUV, though this time she settled on a pair of blue eyes that stared back at her. Devoid of a smile he studied her as if she were a stranger.

            And maybe at that moment, after everything that occurred since the time they last spoke, she was.

           


	2. Bad Habits

The day crawled. Every time his gaze wandered to the clock, only minutes had passed. Nothing had changed. Students still wandered through the corridors with mouths full of gossip on who was doing what. Teachers droned on how calculus was important to know for the real world even though everyone knew it wasn’t. Hvitserk was surprised he didn’t fall asleep at his desk from the monotony of it all.   
On most days it felt like people would stare at him. His family name carried a weight that none of his father’s children asked for. But today it felt especially obvious. How many of his classmates’ parents invested in Ragnar’s business? How many worked at the very industrial trading company that nearly fell apart last June? He couldn’t keep count. As a child the residents of Kattegat would often call his father ‘the king’ as a running joke. That he sat in his mansion above everyone while the townspeople slaved away. Though the opinion of his father often changed as quickly as the weather. One moment he was a hero; the next an old, greedy king. It all rested on how the rest of the town fared.  
He didn’t find any of it interesting. Droning on in conference rooms for hours about how one country would benefit from this aspect of the trade, while the other would gain margins of profit. The only thing he envied of his father was the endless travels he embarked on. If the job consisted of just exploring foreign countries year round, then he might have given Ubbe a run for his money in a few years when their mother eventually passed the torch down to him. It didn’t take a fool notice her distaste in managing everything the past few months.   
When he entered his history class, even the teacher’s gaze fell onto him. Did they notice the dark bags under his eyes, or the scent of whiskey that followed despite the shower this morning?   
“If you look on your desk you’ll find the syllabus for the first half of the year. Look it over yourselves before we go over it as a class.” The teacher droned on. It was probably the fifth time she said that same statement that day.  
Hvitserk barely scanned the packet of paper, already aware of the same expectations that every teacher copy and pasted onto their syllabi. Don’t text in class, don’t talk out of turn, complete work on time, cheating will result in suspension, etc.   
His teacher’s voice cut through the class chatter. “All of you need to read it.”   
With a soft sigh Hvitserk once more flipped through the packet, pretending to be enamored with the dates of the upcoming tests and quizzes. “Same shit, different class.” He muttered.   
Hvitserk barely kept focus on his teacher as she flipped through every page with speed rivaling a turtles. One eye on the clock and the other on a small doodle he started to etch on the corner of his syllabus packet. He barely noticed his fellow teammates from football whispering about todays practice behind him. Already anticipating a record-breaking season with new freshmen joining an already seasoned team. Football and history had become one in the same that summer. Equally dull in comparison to the cruelty of the real world.   
When the bell finally rang, an earthquake of footsteps pushed past his desk. His friend Andrik giving him a playful shove on the shoulder as he walked past, going on about he’d see him at practice later. The thought of running around and kicking the ball around suddenly left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe Ubbe would let him skip out, and he’d ride home with his mother and Ivar. But just the mere thought of that was enough to make his skin crawl and decide that he would suck it up afterall.   
“Hvitserk.”  
He turned his body away from the desk and toward his teacher. She was standing by the door, her arms crossed over her small fame. Had she noticed his appearance more so than the others?  
“Yes, Ms. Asmaundsdottir?”   
She studied him for a moment, her dark eyes observing him carefully. “I’m sorry about your father. I had your brother Sigurd earlier, and he said it’s been… difficult.”  
He shrugged his shoulders casually. “For some of us more than others.”   
He thought of Ivar. Screaming at his mother for the first time in years. How he cursed all of them for letting his father leave for England in the first place. After years of him barely being around he was gone again—just like that. But he didn’t scream like Ivar or strike his fist into the bedroom wall like Sigurd. Hot tears stung his cheeks for the first time in years. Though he was angry with himself for caring at all, even he wasn’t immune to the effects of grief. None of his family saw him often sneak into the bathroom of the funeral parlor or away to his room much earlier than the time he’d go to bed. They had enough to concern themselves with, and his sadness would eventually pass.   
“He did a lot for this town. It was sad to see a good one go.” Her face twisted into a look of sympathy.  
Hvitserk fought the wave of anger that filled him. “Yeah well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”  
“You’re right, I suppose.” Ms. Asmundsdottir sighed. “Everyone’s time comes one point or another.”   
“Yeah.”  
Hvitserk almost way out the door before his teacher’s frail hand pressed into his shoulder. He paused, his eyes looking into her and seeing nothing but sympathy. Something that should have made him physically cringe.   
“I know you’re not like your brothers. Everyone handles death in their own way, and if you ever need to talk—“   
“Thanks.” Hvitserk immediately cut her off.   
His feet nearly sprinted down the hall and away from the classroom. The familiar notion of dread filled him. Like a knife slicing away at his chest, his breathing grew shallow. Locating the nearest bathroom he barreled through the door and tossed his backpack onto the floor. Not caring if others were around. His large fingers gripped the faucet handle and cold water splashed into the basin. It was like ice against his skin as he splashed the water onto his face. At that point it was indistinguishable the water came from the sink and the water that spilled from his eyes.   
He never cared about you. Stop wasting time on his memory.  
His hands gripped the sink as the white tiles spun around him. The sound of his shallow breathing the only noise that filled the room. He cursed himself then for caring, for letting the memory of his father follow him like a shadow. Ubbe and Sigurd managed everyday with ease, and he could barely get through class without falling apart. He suddenly wished that he had swiped a bottle from the liquor cabinet that morning. At that moment he would have downed the whole thing. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“That shit freshmen hit me with a cheap shot.” Sigurd moaned through clenched teeth.   
He clutched his calf muscle that was littered in cleat marks. A low hiss left his lips as the icepack pressed against the battered skin, and Ubbe shook with laughter.   
“Maybe you shouldn’t have taken so long to take a shot at the net.” The eldest retorted.  
Hvitserk snickered as he sat back in the front seat of the SUV. “They’re cocky.” His gaze flickered to Sigurd in the back seat, his mouth clenched in aggravation. “Give it a few weeks, and they’ll remember their place.”   
“They better.” Sigurd hissed. “I didn’t practice all summer to get taken out by a freshmen.”  
Ubbe raised an eyebrow, his gaze momentarily going to the rearview mirror. “Only a year ago you were that shit freshmen you know.”   
“At least I knew how to do a decent block.”   
That time both Ubbe and Hvitserk chuckled at their brother. 

When they pulled into the driveway, Sigurd immediately pulled himself out of the car and limped up the front steps. Hvitserk reached for his seatbelt and took note that Ubbe hadn’t bothered to remove his or turn the car off.   
“Going somewhere?” Hviterk asked.   
A small smirked tugged against his brother’s lips. “Yeah. I have to go see a friend.”   
“Is that the same one from the summer?”   
“Yeah.” Ubbe reached for his phone and began to type feverishly on the screen. “I promised her I’d stop over after practice.”   
Hvitserk didn’t press him further. It was foreign seeing his brother with someone new. But he supposed it was better than the alternative. Not that Ubbe knew what came of Margrethe after their breakup. And Hvitserk hoped the rumors subsided enough that it would stay that way.   
“I guess I’ll see you later then.” Hvitserk reached for the door handle and pulled himself from the car.  
“See you.” Ubbe called over the sound of the door slamming.   
Hvitserk watched as his brother pulled out of the driveway, the black vehicle slowly disappearing down the hill that led into town. “See you.” He whispered.

“Mother wants to see you in her office.” Ivar barked from the kitchen as Hvitserk entered the house.   
His brother was sitting in his wheel chair with an untouched plate of food sitting in front of him. His eyes glazed over the television that was blaring some crime show. Hvitserk knew well enough from Ivar being in the wheelchair that his crutches hadn’t completely worked. And anytime something didn’t work out with Ivar, Hvitserk avoided him like the plague.   
He pulled off his sneakers and tossed them to the side with his backpack. “Alright.”   
As he climbed the stairs Hvitserk tried to think of the last time he talked to his mother alone. Lately she spent most of her energy dealing with their father’s affairs and Ivar. Though that was nothing foreign for him. The last time she looked at him the way she looked at Ivar he was just a boy. The memory of her carrying him into the sea and teaching him to swim was fuzzy at this point in his life.   
His fist knocked against the wood and a soft voice murmured from the inside. Hvitserk took that as enough of an invitation and opened the door.   
“How was school?” Aslaug’s honey laden voice filled the room.  
“Same as always.” He mumbled, stepping through the threshold.   
Her focus was on a stack of papers on the desk. Soft melodies from a violin came out of her computer speakers, and the new candles flickered in their stands beside the bookcases. The family dog—an old malamute named Frigg snored at her feet. It was a completely different room now since she had taken it over. No longer were there pictures of his father with clients on the walls, or the paperweight shaped like a boat that they had gotten him for Christmas one year. Then there was no longer the familiar smell of old leather. Now it was covered in artificial vanilla.   
Hvitserk settled with his back against the and hands shoved in the pockets of his gym shorts.“Ivar said you wanted to talk to me.”   
She lifted her head from the paper and gave him a forced smile. “Yes, actually. I was going to tell Ubbe, but I know he does enough around here. And Sigurd wouldn’t fit well at all.”  
He bit down on his lower lip. “So you want me to do something for you?” Of course she needed a favor. What else was he good for?   
“When I picked your brother up today the secretary was asking about your father, and she mentioned this counseling program going on during some of the free periods. It’s supposed to help students struggling with any kind of problems, and somewhere they can talk. I thought it would be a good thing for Ivar, especially with talking to someone about his pain.” She paused for a moment, and slightly hesitated before speaking once again. “I also think it would be good for you to go too.”  
Hvitserk’s stomach dropped to his toes. “You really want Ivar ranting in front of a bunch of kids?”  
Alsaug narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s a small group.”  
Hvitserk felt himself slipping. “I get that you don’t want him to go alone but I don’t need to sit through group therapy during my free period.”   
“Are you sure you don’t?”  
“What’s that supposed to mean, mother?”  
Aslaug reached into one of the drawers of the desk. Hvitserk shifted uncomfortably as he heard the unmistakable sound of glass clanking against the wooden drawer.   
“It’s means this.” She replied, placing an empty bottle of whiskey on top of the desk in front of him.   
Hvitserk felt his cheeks grow hot. “Why were you in my room?”  
“That isn’t the point Hvitserk.” A soft sigh escaped her lips. “I know you believe that no one notices you everyday, but we do. And this isn’t the first bottle I’ve found missing from the liquor cabinet downstairs. It’ll be good for you to go there and listen to other people. You don’t even have to say anything, I just want you to be in a safe space for forty minutes.”  
Hvistserk shook his head. “Safe space? Really?”   
This time his mother’s smile gave away replaced with a stern frown against her lips. “You’re going, and if you don’t there will be consequences. I don’t want Ivar in there without someone he’s close with.”  
He knew the threat was empty; she never punished them even as children. But he couldn’t mistake the concern in her voice when mentioning his brother. Even when trying to help one of her other children, she still put Ivar first.   
“Fine, I’ll go.”  
Her forced smile returned once more like the flick of a switch. “Good. You’ll both start tomorrow.”


	3. Group Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, some mentions of blood, murder, violence, and harm.

It was impossible to hide the flush of embarrassment that plagued her cheekbones when she entered the classroom. Though the counselor never called on her once the previous day, she could feel the other students’ burning gazes. How did she of all people end up in a school counseling session? It wasn’t too long ago that she and her friends had landed half the kids in the very seat she was in today. But those same friends had no issue ignoring her yesterday either. Only Ragga gave her the same familiar smile and made pretend that nothing was wrong. But the rest of them knew Anya wasn’t the same person after last May. None of them would forget that.

Part of her wondered if Ragga only bothered out of pity. The way she acted as if nothing happened. How her mind wandered to boys rather than death, and how she promised Anya’s mother to drive her to and from school everyday. She doubted her mother would ever allow her to drive alone again. All those months of saving up for a car were nothing but a waste. But Ragga was all she had left when it came to friends, and for now that was enough.

“Just go in the back no one will notice us.” 

A familiar voice filled her ears, and the sound of crutches clicking against the linoleum filled the room like an irritating drumbeat. 

“They’re going to stare either way, you’re with your  _ cripple _ brother, remember?”

“Shut up Ivar.”

Her head flew up from the sketchbook on her desk, anxiety clenching her throat making it difficult to breathe. She hadn’t properly spoken to them in years. Yet nothing but pure dread coiled in her belly at the sight of Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson entering the classroom. The other students were nameless faces. Anything they repeated would have been lost in the endless gossip that filtered through the school everyday. 

But the two boys that wandered to the back of the classroom had seen a small shard of her past that the rest hadn’t. They were there that day all those years ago. She could still hear the sound of her mother’s cries as she held her trembling child, wrapped in heated blankets. Aslaug didn’t come till hours later. Anya remembered how she and Hvitserk shook on either side of her mother as she read them stories in the hospital to pass the time. 

The seat beside her screeched as the legs were dragged across linoleum. Her throat constricted and it became painful to breath. The room around her grew hot, a sudden desert despite the air conditioning that blasted through the building. 

_ Don’t look up. Don’t look up.  _

“There’s no way I’m doing this shit all year.” Hvitserk piped up beside her.

Suddenly the open sketchbook on Anya’s desk was the most interesting object in the room. Today everyone would stare at them, just like they always did. Gossip would pile on about how Hvitserk and Ivar Ragnarsson went crazy after daddy’s death. And if she kept her head down long enough, they’d be more concerned about the rumors than her. 

A scoff came from his other side as a pair of crutches fell to the floor. “Poor Hvitserk. Always thinking he’s better than the rest of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ivar’s fingers tapped against his desk. Anya could all ready picture the smug grin tugging against his lips. “If I had working legs, you’d actually be more screwed up than me.”

“Ivar Fu--”

“Good afternoon everyone, take your seats. I’m going to take attendance.”

The classroom door slammed shut as the counselor rushed in. Her breath slighted ragged from rushing to the classroom. Anya had secretly hoped she forgot about the session and left them alone for forty minutes. 

“For those of you who weren’t here yesterday, I’m Mrs.Vilgerð. I’m one of the counselors here at Kattegat High School. This is meant to be a open discussion for people to gain support from their peers. If you feel uncomfortable at any time feel free to leave the room. This is a safe space, nothing you say will be repeated. We all take a vow of secrecy once we enter this classroom. Understood?”

A chorus of quiet yeses flooded the room. But Anya couldn’t mistake the snicker that came from her left. It was obvious who wasn’t there the day before, but Mrs. Vilgerð acted as if more than two people joined in on the session.

“Tadeas Andarnsson.”

“Here.”

“Eira Baransdottir” 

“Here”

Anya began to chew on her lower lip, her gaze glued to the sketchbook. Her hands shook with anxious energy as the list went further through the alphabet. She began to sketch as small doodle with her pencil. Though it was more of more of a series of scribbles than anything. Her mind was on more than the canvas before her. Ivar and Hvitserk didn’t notice Anya yet, but it wouldn’t be long before her name left Mrs. Vilgerð’s lips. 

“Hvitserk Ragnarsson.”

The body beside her shifted. “Here.” 

“Ivar Ragnarsson.” 

“Here.”

She felt it then. The pairs of eyes that fell on the desks beside her. Anya didn’t have to look up to know how they looked at the two brother’s with curiosity. Maybe they would find an answer to one of the endless slew of rumors that were being tossed around. So many secrets surrounded their family. From the mysterious death of their father, to rumors that he was doing more than just simply trading goods with other countries. In a town like Kattegat where everyone knew everyone, there was bound to be scandal somewhere. Why not with the family that kept the town afloat? 

“Anya Sigvardsdottir” 

The shift of the body beside her was enough to know that she was no longer an anonymous face. Heat kissed her cheeks until they resembled cherries. Somehow it was possible to be more embarrassed today than she was yesterday. 

“Here.” Her voice reached just above a whisper.

Ivar’s voice filled her ears despite his effort to keep quiet. “Wait Anya, Anya?”

Hvitserk’s kicked his brothers chair causing the younger one to wince. “Shut up.”

Anya’s eyes widened at her desk, but she still refused to look up. If she ever found her voice again maybe she’d thank Hvitserk for diverting the attention from her. Though she could barely remember to breathe, let alone gain the courage to speak. 

“Alright well since we have everyone here today, let’s get started.” Mrs. Vilgerð rounded the desk and sat on top of it. One of her thighs crossed over the other, and a clipboard in hand she looked at the class with a bright gaze. As if her friendly nature would force any of them to release demons. “Who has something they’d like to talk about?”

One could have heard a pin drop. The students remained tight lipped, their eyes focusing on everything but the fair haired woman at the front of the room. Anxiety chewed away at Anya knowing that Mrs. Vilgerð would call on someone randomly if nobody volunteered to speak. The day before she lucked out due to eager students clamoring for attention and advice. But now that the eagar ones had spoken, she was more likely to be called on. 

Suddenly a hand shot up in her peripheral vision and Hvitserk sunk in his chair. As if he was suddenly tugged with a string. His gaze full of rage as he watched Ivar’s hand wave in the air. 

“Yes, Ivar?”

The younger brother couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. Anya knew from their younger years that Ivar didn’t publicly open up. He only tried to control the mood of others through manipulation.

Ivar’s smirk didn’t falter “My father died. But I think everyone knows that by now.”

Anya flinched at the sound of a groan beside her. No doubt Hvitserk didn’t share Ivar’s thirst for attention. 

“I’m very sorry for your loss Ivar.” Mrs. Vilgerð held a look of sympathy. She was clearly unaware of Ivar’s ways. “I did hear about your father. It was a devastating loss for our community.” 

The younger Ragnarsson chuckled. “Sure.”

Mrs. Vilgerð’s face twisted into confusion. Anya almost pitied her for thinking that Ivar’s intentions were innocent. It wouldn’t be long until he found a way to twist it onto all of them. “How do you feel about that, Ivar?”

The class remained silent, their eyes all locked on him. “My father was an okay guy. Not always a good father, but he knew business. He also knew how to get what he wanted from everyone. So I’m not that surprised, honestly.” 

Anya’s jaw dropped. Ivar was known for his blunt nature and cruelty. But she hardly expected him to be so blunt in front of his peers. 

Mrs. Vilgerð began to scribble on the clipboard. “Why weren’t you surprised?”

“I mean, isn’t it obvious? A lot of people hated my father. Especially those dicks over in England. They tried to nickel and dime him for everything. And like an idiot my father took it. I’m not surprised they were the ones to blow his brains out.”

“Ivar.” Hvitserk hissed, his hardened gaze now on his little brother.

“Now Ivar I’m sure you don’t mean that.” The counselors voice faded slightly in confidence.  “I can see you’re angry and that’s normal. Some of us handle grief with anger rather than sadness.”

“I mean the only thing I was angry about was the blood. I mean it was everywhere, all over my clothes. It took weeks for my mother to get the stains out. I guess I was made about getting dragged to England too. He didn’t even want me there--”

_ The blood. It was everywhere.  _

Anya’s attention faded from the classroom. Bile started to build in her throat as blood poured down between her fingers. The slick liquid left a scent of metal in the air as it stained pearl tiles.  _ It was everywhere. It was everywhere. The blood.  _

A yelp escaped Anya’s lips as she watched the bloody tile walls turn back to white paint. Her eyes shifted to her hands that were no longer stained red. Silence filled the room, and she suddenly realized Ivar was no longer talking. It felt like hundreds of eyes were staring at her as Anya looked up from the now crumpled sketchbook crushed under closed fists. She dared a gaze to her left. Hvitserk stared, his skin an unnatural shade of white. Ivar’s lips still curled into a smile. Only this time it was to  _ mock her _ . 

Grabbing her backpack from the floor, Anya stood from her chair. Mrs. Vilgerð may have called after her, but she couldn’t hear a thing. Only Ivar’s satisfied voice chanting a melody in her head.  _ It was everywhere. The Blood.  _ She made a beeline for the door and slammed it behind her.

The hallway felt like winter compared to the heat and tension in the classroom. Her knees gave beneath her and Ragna’s body sunk to the floor. She silently chanted a prayer in her head that Mrs. Vilgerð wouldn’t run out after her. It was bad enough she would have to face everyone tomorrow. They would stare at her more than Ivar with his twisted stories. 

Anya’s breathing came out ragged, her face buried in trembling hands. Her hair a long blanket of fire that hung over her head like a shield. Though her scalp prickled with sweat and she wondered if she’d be able to stand once the bell rang. Her legs like jello as they trembled against the floor. It had been weeks since she panicked like that. Mrs. Vilgerð would definitely email her mother about this, only bringing more questions to the doctor next week. And maybe more pills with it. 

Maybe the talk of Ivar’s father being shot by Englishmen would be enough gossip to cover up her stunt. Or maybe everyone would keep looking at her like a piece of thin glass. Ready to shatter at any moment if someone tapped it hard enough.

The slam of the door made Anya jump in place, her face flying out of her hands. She expected it to be Mrs. Vilgerð with a fake smile of sympathy and sweet musings. But instead the person before her only made her stare back like a fool. 

Hvitserk’s eyes locked on hers. They were like ocean waves, violent and erratic. His breathing was as ragged as hers, and sweat gathered above his brow. The two of them stood there for what felt like years staring at one another. Wide eyed and full of fear, neither could find the words to speak. What could she say?  _ Your brother is an asshole. I thought triggers were bullshit until now. Why did you walk out? What else did he say? Do you get panic attacks too? Do you have a xanax I can borrow? _

Hvitserk began to open his mouth but whatever noise came out was cut off by the screech of the bell. His eyes widened and he slowly backed away before completely taking off. Anya watched as he practically sprinted for the stairwell at the end of the hall. She could just hear the sound of a door slamming over the bell as his form faded from view. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring at the place where he stood only moments before like a fool. Anya barely took notice of the looks from other students as they poured out of classrooms and into the hall. It wasn’t until she heard the click of crutches beside her that she tore her gaze from the now empty stairwell. 

“Where did my brother go?” Ivar’s voice was like a sharpened knife. 

Wide green eyes found him above her. The smirk torn from Ivar’s face was replaced with a scowl. She felt satisfaction that he was annoyed. Especially after making her look like a fool in front of the class. 

“Hey! Anya!” Ivar swung the crutch inches from her face. “Stop staring into space like an idiot, I’m talking to you.”

This time her lips etched into a scowl. There were so many things she wanted to say at that moment, but she couldn’t find the words.  _ Looks like you did end up bitter and cruel afterall. Inflicting more pain on your family than yourself.  _

“He left.” She mumbled. 

Ivar let out a dramatic sigh. “Of course.” His gaze fell on her one last time, looking more annoyed than before. “Thanks.” 

Anya didn’t bother a reply as Ivar began to limp past her toward the senior wing lockers. No doubt he was going to tell Ubbe what just happened. Maybe the whole school would know before the day even ended. 

Hviserk’s face plagued her mind. The way his eyes were filled with terror, and how his hands trembled as if they were freezing. When they were children he always had a smile on his face. His eyes bright blue pools as he chased her down the hill to the ice and snow below. She couldn’t remember the last time those eyes were so bright. Maybe it was that day, when everything changed. Neither of them were ever the same. No amount of separation and ignorance could keep two cursed souls from finding misery. 

_ Would things have gone the way they did if we never wandered off that day? _

“Anya!”

Her train of thought was cut off at the sight of Ragga jogging toward her. Relief filled her as the blonde rushed over out of breath. She glared toward the wandering eyes that found their way to Anya crumpled on the floor. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ragga kneeled in front of Anya, her face filled with concern.  “You missed study hall.” 

Anya’s gaze fell to the floor “Can we get out of here?” 

Ragga looked like she was ready to question her, but she simply shook her head. Maybe she learned from years of friendship that Anya never fully explained everything. Something that her other ‘friends’ never quite understood.  “Yeah, let’s go.”

A sigh of relief escaped Anya’s lips as Ragga held her hand out. Once she their grasps united Ragga pulled Anya to her feet, and brushed off her crumpled blouse. “Thanks.” 

A ghost of a smile tugged at Ragga’s lips. “You can add it to the list of things you have to tell me about one day.” 

“Okay.” 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Her mother stood at the front door, her arms crossed and a deep furrow in her brow. Anya could tell from the moment they entered the driveway that she already heard about free period. 

Ragga bit down on her lower lip. “Do you think she knows we ditched?”

A frown marred Anya’s features. “Probably.”

“Then they probably called my parents too. I probably should head out.”

Anya nodded. She felt guilty that Ragga was probably going to get in trouble for her idea. But the thought of spending any more time at school made her stomach clench. “Thank you Ragga.” 

Their gazes met and Ragga gave her friend a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it Anya, you’d do the same for me.” 

Anya returned her smile and opened the car door. “Always Ragga.” 

She watched as Ragga’s car pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the road. As a child she enjoyed living closer to the top of the hill. The few houses up here were spread out and it provided a lot of room to explore. But now she’d give anything to have one of the houses crowded next to Ragga’s, each built exactly the same besides color scheme. It wasn’t until the past summer that living with just her mother made her feel so alone. 

By the time she reached the front door her mother was no longer hovering in front of it. Instead she sat at the foot of the staircase in the foyer. A frown was painted on her face, and she looked at Anya like she had committed a crime.  

Anya was an exact physical copy of her mother. The only difference with her mother was her body held several signs of aging. The shade of her hair grew dull, and her skin began to wrinkle. Both had petite frames and long, fiery red hair. Neither one could reach the top shelf on in cupboards either. Though her father was almost as tall as the birch tree in the backyard, Anya hadn’t inherited any of it. Only the emerald hue of his eyes, and with his absence she considered that more of a curse than a gift. 

“Mrs. Vilgerð called.”

Anya tossed her backpack to the ground and began to untie the laces of her converse. Anything to keep her gaze of her mother. “Did she?”

“Yes.” Her mother’s tone grew short. “She said that she was concerned because today one of the students appeared to have upset you. And then when she went to talk to you afterward it seems that you disappeared into thin air.”

Anya fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I didn’t disappear. I needed some air.”

“You can’t just walk out of school like that, Anya.”

Whenever her mother wanted to discipline Anya, her voice held the same tone. It always sounded as if she was holding back. Like she wanted to drill into her daughter for skipping school instead of just talking to Mrs. Vilgerð. But she never did. Not the way Anya knew her mother wanted to. Like everyone else she feared her daughter would shatter into a thousand pieces before her. The only way she could punish Anya was by smothering her. No car, no parties, early curfews, no one her mother didn’t know hanging out with her. It would have been less painful to just press a pillow against Anya’s face.

“Ivar Ragnarsson is in my counseling group.” She looked up at her mother for the first time. “So is Hvitserk. I guess the school doesn’t take your rule to keep them away from me into consideration anymore.”

Silence filled the room. It didn’t surprise her that Mrs.Vilgerð left out that Ivar was the reason she left the room. Her mother had caused enough grief for the school. They weren’t completely wrong for leaving out miniscule details. 

“But they’re not the reason I walked out.” The lie slipped from her lips with ease. “I walked out because I’m sick of hearing about how depressed everyone is. Do you want me to end up back in the nuthouse?”

Her mother didn’t speak then. Her lips pressed together as they were holding back what she really wanted to say. No doubt it was something along the lines of  _ You put yourself there.  _ But there were many reasons she ended up there, and it wasn’t just because her brain wasn’t wired right. 

“So you have nothing to say to that? Do you even believe me?”

A sigh escaped her mother’s lips and her gaze went to the floor. “Hearing the other students is supposed to make you feel more comfortable with opening up.”

“Opening up about what?” She snapped. “How I didn’t spend the summer in Iceland? How dad didn’t bother to come see me at all since the accident? Or maybe Ivar, Hvitserk, and I can all hash out our childhood trauma. You would love that wouldn’t you? I mean everyone still wants to know what really happened years ago. We should tell them. Maybe it’ll make the other kids’ parents look like saints!” 

“Anya this has nothing to do with that! This is about what happened last summer. You need to move on. I thought going to school would help but obviously--”

She cut off her mother “It doesn’t help when you’re suffocating me! All you let me do is go to and from school like some kind of delinquent.”  

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Anya!”

“You had no problem letting it happen the first two times!” 

Silence filled the air as her words sunk in. It was rare that her mother ever was at a loss for words. She could make a conversation with a wall. Yet her mother sat there looking dumbfounded. Her eyes had become glassy.  Regret suddenly filled Anya. She couldn’t remember how many times over the summer she shouted those same words at one of the psychiatrists. But never did she dare to say it to her mother’s face. Until now of course. 

She stormed up the stairs past her mother. She called up after her, though Anya couldn’t hear it above the rage brewing inside of her. Her mother wanted to help her, but she still had yet to figure out that there was no fixing someone like her. She was just a cracked window that shattered more every day despite the duct tape meant to secure her. 

The door slammed behind her, the frame shaking in her wake. 

  
  
  
  
  



	4. Guilt

“Hvitserk!” Ubbe’s voice carried from the floor below as the front door slammed shut. 

A groan escaped his lips knowing that Ivar undoubtedly snitched on him. He tried to keep his gaze glued to the ceiling, since every time he managed to shut his eyes images of Ragnar in that hotel room filled his mind. His father’s chest blown open, the blood pouring out of him like a faucet that was left on. 

He hadn’t even been there when it happened. Bjorn offered to take him and his brothers to Spain after school ended, but only Hvitserk tagged along. Even in a drunken haze at the time he couldn’t forget the terror in Sigurd’s voice as he rambled on the other line of the phone.  _ “Father is dead. Ivar found him in their hotel room. Someone shot him.”  _ Bjorn didn’t say a thing, only that he’d book them flights home for the next morning. He knew Ragnar longer than Hvitserk, his half brother was older than him. Yet only silence plagued the two of them until they parted ways. He always wondered if Bjorn woke up from night terrors or saw blood every time he closed his eyes. They were always closer than Ragnar and Hvitserk. If anything his father’s murder shouldn’t have bothered him at all. 

_ Then why can’t I let it go? _

“Hvitserk!” 

His bedroom door flew open as Ubbe’s torso filled the threshold. The concern that filled his eyes made bile rise in Hvitserk’s throat. 

“What the hell happened?” Ubbe let out an exasperated breath. “Ivar nearly took out half the seniors trying to get to my locker, and then he wouldn’t stop rambling on about how you ditched.” 

Hvitserk’s gaze fell onto his brother for the first time. Still slightly out of breath from running back to the house, he didn’t say anything. What could he say that didn’t make him sound like he was crazy?  _ I had a meltdown when Ivar started talking about father. But I wasn’t the only one, Ubbe. Anya did too. That makes me less crazy than you think I am right now, right?  _

“Anya did too.” His voice was barely audible. 

Ubbe raised a brow. “Anya?” 

Hvitserk flinched upon realization that he said his thoughts aloud. “Our Anya, from years ago. She was in the classroom too.” 

“Okay. But that doesn’t explain why you ran off.” 

It explained perfectly why he ran off. The tension grew every second that Ivar spoke in that room. The walls caved in and it felt as if he were trapped in a jail cell instead of a classroom. Hvitserk saw the same terror in her eyes. Though they were focused on anything but him, he couldn’t help but stare. The way her breathing grew ragged and how nailbeds dug into her pale palms. It seemed that everyone had changed as the years went on but Hvitserk remained the same sad boy he once was. Except her. When she bolted from the classroom like a flash of red lightning he knew she still harbored pain too. And that was enough to make him run.

Except when he was free from the classroom he hadn’t felt the relief he expected. The only thing he found was Anya’s crumpled form against a wall of lockers. For years he wanted to say something to her. To apologize for his mother, to challenge the stupid rule her parents placed on her, to admit how he once felt. But time not only changed them, it drew them apart. Though he saw the young girl with chattering blue lips and terrified eyes once more, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he was thinking. 

“Hvitserk! Are you listening to me?”

“Ivar pissed me off.” He snapped. “So I ditched because I didn’t want to listen to him for another half hour.”

Confusion spread onto Ubbe’s face. “So you ran off with Anya?”

Hvitserk shook his head, holding back the hysterical fit that threatened to surface. “No. She just ditched right before I did. I haven’t talked to her in years.”

Ubbe’s lips pressed together like he was holding something back. Blue hues looking at Hvitserk with pity before he shook his head. “Are you sure you weren’t just upset? It’s okay if you were.”

He contemplated for a moment whether or not it was worth it to tell Ubbe everything. But he could barely explain to himself what was happening let alone his elder brother. Ubbe had enough to deal with when it came to their family. 

“I told you, Ivar just pissed me off.” Hvitserk shrugged. “I’m fine.”

Ubbe opened his mouth to speak before pausing. His face appeared as if he was contemplating whether or not to say what was on his mind. Hvitserk wondered if he had the energy to pick a fight with his brother if he continued to challenge him. Something must have stopped him, because with a soft sigh Ubbe began to turn back toward the door. 

“We still have time to make practice if you want to go.” Ubbe called over his shoulder. 

Hvitserk shook his head. “No thanks.”

He could practically feel the look of disappointment on Ubbe’s face. “Okay. I’ll be home later if you want to talk then.”

“I think I’m fine.” 

Ubbe didn’t say anything more and shut the door behind him. Hvitserk let out a sigh of relief at the silence surrounding him. He knew Ubbe would still worry for the rest of the day. And he wouldn’t be surprised if his brother still attempted to get something out of him later on. They were always closest to each other. Since they were children there wasn’t anywhere Ubbe went without Hvitserk by his side. Their teachers would often say they behaved like twins. It was a miracle the two weren’t finishing each other’s sentences at this point.

But Ubbe was a great brother. He would drop anything to make sure that Hvitserk was okay, no matter the significance. The day of Ragnar’s funeral Hvitserk was hunched over the toilet bowl in the funeral parlor upchucking from the copious amounts of liquor he consumed. Ubbe never said a word. He just rubbed his brother’s back and held up the hair that he hadn’t bothered to cut in over a year. But Hvitserk had done things to hurt Ubbe. He’d never be as good of a brother as him. He would only hurt him instead. 

Hvitserk reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. As he scrolled through his contacts the guilt began to consume him.  _ I am a shit brother,  _ he thought as he pressed the call button of the screen. 

The phone rang several times before he finally heard her voice on the other line. “Hey, what are you doing right now? Can I stop by for a bit? I skipped practice today.” 

Once he received the confirmation he wanted Hvitserk rose from his bed. He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out what he needed before shutting the door behind him.

Ivar was sitting in the living room when Hvitserk came down the stairs. His eyes were glued to the large television screen. Hvitserk hoped he was more concerned on the show in front of him instead of his older brother. He made his way to the front foyer, pulling on his sneakers and grabbing one of the sets of car keys off the shelf. 

“Running off again?” Ivar called from the living room.

Hvitserk ignored it, and slammed the front door behind him. 

 

*  * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Something is on your mind.”

He opened his eyes to Margrethe’s bright hue’s focused on him. She bit down on her lower lip, and curiosity was painted on her face. She rubbed soft circles into his bare chest. Their nude bodies pressed against one another underneath the sheets. 

“Maybe.” He whispered. 

She clicked her tongue. “Do you wish to talk about it? Or are you going to do what you always do and say nothing?”

A chuckle escaped his lips at her comment. “Isn’t that what I’m good at, not saying anything?”

“I like it when you talk to me.” 

He leaned back against the pillow and began to trace small circles in her lower back. “I know you do.”

A soft sigh escaped her plump lips. She lowered her head onto his chest, the beat of his heart thumping against her ear. He knew she didn’t like how closed off he was. Ubbe once told her anything and everything. But he never let anyone see what was really going on in his head. It may have been why he never snagged up a proper girlfriend either. Feelings complicated things too much, and he prefered to keep every girl he slept with at an arm's length. 

Margrethe, he learned, was no different from the others either. In the beginning he found himself constantly catching her eye. Ubbe would bring her over and Hvitserk would make excuses to hang out with them. For once he’d engage in conversation rather than forcing it. Margrethe was sweet and shy. Her hair reminded him of honey wheat and he used to imagine running his fingers through it. But once she pulled him into a kiss that day outside the funeral parlor he knew he’d made a mistake. It wasn’t long until she left Ubbe without a proper explanation and began pursuing Hvitserk. Any smart person would have ignored her, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. He fantasized about having her underneath him since he was thirteen. 

But every time they found one another he was consumed with guilt. If Ubbe ever found out he would hate him. Four years of a relationship thrown away because of Hvitserk. It left him upset enough that he could never enjoy Margrethe the way he wished to. She would try and push his limits, get him to open up or take her on a date. But he couldn’t change, not even for her. He doubted he’d ever find anyone to make him change. At least in Kattegat. 

“Do you ever talk to my brother?” 

She lifted her head and gave him a confused expression. “Ubbe?”

He nodded.

She raised a brow. “No. I haven’t spoken to him since we broke up. Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess I assumed you’d just get back together by now.” 

“Doubtful. He’s with Ragga now.” The distaste was evident in her voice. 

“I know. But I figured he still loved you.” 

“You think too much of your brother, Hvitserk. He’s like any other boy. Onto the next one,” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Just like that.” 

She wasn’t wrong. But it didn’t calm the anxiety that was thundering in his belly. Ubbe would still be angry with him if he ever found out. 

She pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone, a small smile on her face. “I don’t need Ubbe anymore, Hvitserk. I have you.”

His eyes widened before quickly concealing his surprise. “Yeah, you do.” 

Her body tensed against his, but she didn’t say anything after that. An awkward silence filled the room as they avoided each other’s gazes. Deep down they both knew that outside of physical attraction there was nothing there. Yet neither could let go of the other. Margrethe was comfortable, and Hvitserk had enough things going awry in his life that he didn’t need to change another. 

“Do you think I’m prettier than her?” Margrethe spilled. 

Hvitserk’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you asking that?”

She shrugged. “I want to know.”

“Yes, but I might be biased.” He closed his eyes momentarily. “I never looked at Ragga that way.”

“That group just gets everyone they want.” Margrethe sneered. “Ragga, Frida, Hanna, Freydis, Anya. Everyone thinks they’re  _ so _ special.” 

“They’re not. Don’t act like that.”

A scoff escaped her lips. “You don’t have to lie. There’s always  _ that  _ group. When Ubbe and I were freshmen it was Torvi and Astrid. Now it’s those five.” 

Hvitserk playfully rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ve never paid much attention to that stuff.”

Margrethe’s smile returned, her hand reaching to cup his cheek. “I know. That’s what’s so great about you. Ubbe always cared too much.”

“He always did.” 

Unlike Sigurd and Ubbe Hvitserk didn’t bother trying to fit in. Most of the time he only did by association. His brothers made it easier to blend in with their friends without the drama. But there was never much drama with the guys. He could only imagine what the girls went through. He wondered how many of the girls that praised Ubbe and Margrethe as a couple tried to get with him the moment they broke up. Or how many of them were spreading the rumor that she fell into Hvitserk’s bed only days later. 

His phone vibrated on the nightstand. No doubt that it was Ubbe looking for him. “I should grab that. It’s probably my brother.”

A look of distaste crossed her features as she pulled away from him. “What does he want?” 

Hvitserk reached for the phone and began to read the message Ubbe read. “I didn’t tell him I was leaving. He and Sigurd probably want to play Xbox or something.” 

She clicked her tongue. “Sounds fun.”

With a slight roll of his eyes, Hvitserk ignored her comment and began to type his reply. She didn’t need to know that Ubbe’s message was more frantic than just waiting for him to come home and play video games. No doubt he’d get cornered the minute he went home. 

When he didn’t answer for a few moments she pressed on. “So you have to go?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and rose from the bed. “I shouldn’t have stayed this long.” 

“When will I see you again?” 

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe this weekend?”

“There’s a party at Hanna’s Friday. You should go, we could sneak off somewhere.”

He contemplated it for a moment as he pulled his jeans on. If someone caught them he was screwed. But he didn’t see much of a reason to stick around the party either. Besides getting drunk, but that was something he could do at home with his brothers. 

“Didn’t you just go on about her and her friends? Now you want to go to a party there?” He teased. 

Margrethe tossed one of the pillows and laughed as it whacked him in the thigh. “It’s something to do Hvitserk. You can’t haul yourself up in your parent’s house forever.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll go.”

She squealed in victory, her head falling back into the pillows. “Good.” 

Hvitserk pulled his hoodie over his torso and shot her a wink. “See you then, Margrethe.” 

“See you, Hvitserk.”

He could always tell from the hesitation in her voice that she expected him to say more when he left. But we could never find the words. He gave once last final glance over his shoulder at her form in the bed before opening her window and climbing out. Every time he left her house he wondered if it’d be the last, or if he’d somehow find his way back again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer of a chapter to make up for my lack of updates. Some mentions of self harm that may be triggering.   
> Enjoy!

“Hold still, I’m almost done!”   
Anya shook out of her daze, her freckled face becoming more focused on the mirror in front of her. Hanna tugged at her unruly locks and wrapped them around the barrel of the curling iron. Music blared through her ears as Frida and Ragga sang along, their arms rummaging through the pile of clothes on the bed. She could just barely make out Freydis’ voice in the other room yelling on the phone about the beer her boyfriend was supposed to bring with him.   
“You’ve been curling my hair for like an hour, Hanna” She replied.  
Her friend snorted, blonde locks bouncing with every movement she made. “Because you have so much of it. Not my fault you wanted to grow your hair down to your ass--”  
“Hey!” Frida shouted. “I love how long Anya’s hair is. I can’t get mine to go past my shoulders.” She shot them a dramatic pout.   
They were already buzzed. Hanna managed to break into her parents’ liquor cabinet, and the quartet polished off a bottle of gin. Their cheeks flushed like red berries in the summer. It was the lightest Anya felt in months. Her limbs lighter than a feather as she leaned back into the chair, humming along to the beat. It was easier to tolerate her friends this way. Their questions were only white noise now compared to when she was sober.  
“Alright, Einar is bringing the beer.” Freydis barged into the room like a whirlwind. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. He bought the cheap stuff though.”  
Ragga shrugged her shoulders. “Booze is booze.”  
Hanna wrapped the last strand of crimson around the golden barrel, and held it above Anya’s head. “Do you want me to do your eyeshadow, or do you got it?”   
“I can do it.” She replied.   
Hanna nodded and released the strand from the iron, and began to run her fingers through the curls to loosen them. “You should do your hair like this everyday. You look like you belong in a movie or something.”  
A laugh escaped Anya’s lips. “I’m way too lazy to do this every day.”  
“She barely remembers to brush it, and you want her to curl it?” Ragga interjected.   
Hanna playfully shrugged and held her hands up. “Just a suggestion guys.”   
The next ten minutes flew while Anya and Hanna sat beside one another in front of the mirror and did their makeup. Parties were the only time she bothered to put effort into anything. School started far too early and she wasn’t a morning person. Though it was a welcome change to be more worried about how she looked for a party than whether or not she took her meds that morning. Her mother was hesitant about letting her go anywhere after last summer, but if she didn’t let Anya do anything the girl would have become more insane.   
Freydis piped up over her train of thought. “You never told us about Iceland.”   
Anya’s stomach dropped to the floor. Any buzz she had was gone in seconds. “What do you want to know? I just saw my dad.”  
Her friend let out a dramatic sigh and fell onto the bed. “Come on Anya, you spent the summer abroad while the rest of us slowly rotted in this town. Of course I want to know everything--naturally.”  
She gulped. Her thoughts rushed a mile a minute trying to piece together events that never occured. She had only actually been to Iceland once, after the initial divorce. But the memory of it was a haze that she didn’t like to recollect. But if any of them knew the truth they would never look at her the same. At least all but Ragga. She spent nearly all of high school trying to get in with the “right” people. One trip to the nut house couldn’t blow it.   
“We went to the hot springs.” She lied. “And we visited the Volcano, but it was still snow up there. Even in July.”  
It seemed her friends believed her by the glow of Freydis’ gaze through the mirror. “I’m so jealous! My parents always go to France or Spain for our holidays. I’d love to go somewhere different like that.”  
“We should all go next time.” Frida suggested. “I mean Anya’s dad has a place we can stay.”   
Anya’s face grew red, and her gaze dropped to the carpet. “Yeah I--”  
“Come on guys,” Ragga interrupted, pulling her dress over her head. “You just can’t invite yourselves to Iceland.”  
Frida rolled her eyes. “But she could ask.”  
“Exactly. Let her ask before you go off making plans.”  
“I can ask.” Anya piped up. “It’s fine.” Except it wasn’t.  
Freydis’ face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Excellent! It can be a girls trip before our last year of school!”  
Hanna nodded. “That’d be awesome, Anya.”  
“Don’t feel bad if you dad says no.” Ragga retorted. “We can just take a trip up to Oslo or something.”   
Before Anya could answer a door slammed below, and voices filled the hallway. Saved by the crowd again.   
“Oh that must be Einar.” Freydis squeaked.   
Ragga rolled her eyes. “Good, I’m already losing my buzz.”  
“Yeah we better finish up and head downstairs before everyone else gets here.” Hanna mused.   
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
“You don’t think Ivar’s gonna snitch, right?” Sigurd placed a hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder.   
Ubbe answered before he could. “Doubt it. It’s not like she gives a shit anyways if we’re out.”   
“She did that night we want to the Erikssons’ after the funeral.”   
“Well that’s different, Sigurd. It’s been months.” Ubbe retorted.   
Hvitserk’s gaze fell on his brothers. “It’s not like Ivar’s with us either. That’s the only time mother worries.”  
Sigurd snorted. “If Ivar was here...talk about buzzkill. I don’t even think he drinks.”  
“Ubbe!” A voice shouted over the noise.   
The crowd around them parted slightly. The entire house was filled corner to corner with their classmates. No doubt the first party of the year would have everyone coming out.   
“Ubbe!”  
A tall blonde pulled out of the crowd toward the three of them. Her face flushed from alcohol and the abundance of bodies around them. A small smirk was painted on her red lips. Hvitserk noticed his brother stand up straight, his eyes brighter than he’d seen in months.   
“Ragga.”   
A giggle burst from her lips as she wrapped her arms around Ubbe’s neck. Hvitserk shifted to the right, his body brushing up against Sigurd’s. Her cream colored legs stood out against the navy shade of Ubbe’s jeans. Besides the blonde tresses, she bore almost no resemblance to Margrethe. Her athletic frame and bright green eyes reminded Hvitserk of the exact opposite of everything that was Ubbe’s ex.   
Their lips locked in a brief kiss before she pulled back. “Come on, I need a pong partner.”   
Ubbe’s gaze fell on his brothers, a wolfish grin tugged against his lips. “I’ll be back.”   
“Yeah, whatever.” Sigurd hissed.   
Ragga took Ubbe’s arm and pulled him into the crowd. It only took seconds before Hvitserk lost sight of him.   
“Do you think he could get me with Frida?”   
Hvitserk raised a brow. “She’s in my year.”   
Sigurd shrugged. “So? If Ubbe’s hooking up with Ragga then he could put in a good word for me.”  
Hvitserk put the cup in his hand to his lips. The last of the beer inside poured down his throat.   
“What?” Sigurd playfully shoved his arm. “Think she’s out of my league?”  
Hvitserk swallowed the beer and shook his head. “Nah. She’s alright.”  
“Well Freydis has a boyfriend, Ragga is with our brother, Hanna likes girls, so that just leaves Frida and Anya.”   
Hvitserk’s stomach did a backflip. “There’s more than five girls in the entire school.”  
“Yeah, but those are the ones everyone wants.” Sigurd retorted.  
“Not everyone.” Hvitserk mumbled.   
“Huh?”  
“I’m gonna go get a refill.” Hvitserk held his cup up, quick to change the subject. “Want one?”   
“Nah, I’m good.”   
“Alright.” Hvitserk started to walk toward the crowd away from the kitchen counter. “If you want to talk to Frida she’s probably with Ubbe and Ragga right now.”   
“Probably.” Sigurd called after him. “I might go find him.”  
Hvitserk didn’t reply. He pushed through the mass of bodes talking and dancing in the kitchen, until he found the living room. The keg Einar managed to get sat in the corner beside the television. It was on, but it was impossible to hear the game playing over the music. Hvitserk reached for the hose and placed it in his cup before pushing down the latch. His blue eyes traveled around the room. He recognized all the faces from school. Most of them in his or Ubbe’s grades. But a few younger faces from Sigurd’s and even Ivar’s. He wondered how long he’d have to sit through it before Margrethe texted him to go somewhere.   
He didn’t leave the keg area. And before he knew it two beers turned to nine. The room became hazy, and the ceiling spun if he looked at it for too long. When people came up to him now it was easier to strike up conversation and pretend like he cared what they were saying. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. But his phone didn’t vibrate once, meaning neither Margrethe or his siblings left yet.   
He poured himself one more beer before pulling away from the keg. It would take awhile to find either Sigurd or Ubbe in the many rooms of Hanna’s house. Though he had a feeling where he would find one he’d find the other. Sigurd like a dog chasing after Ragga’s friend. But even as Sigurd navigated through the living room and then the kitchen, he caught no sight of Margrethe. She promised him she’d be there. It was the only reason he bothered showing up.  
Letting out a sigh Hvitserk pulled out his phone. It was already a half hour past midnight and not a single text. He decided to bite the bullet and pull up his messages. The sentences putting themselves together in his drunken state.   
Where are you? I’ve been waiting for hours.   
It felt like a century had passed before Margrethe’s name flashed on the screen.  
Give me like twenty minutes. I’m with my friends in the basement.   
Part of him took that as an open invitation to head to the basement. But if anyone caught sight of them Ubbe would have his head. Even if he was tangled up in the next new thing.   
Okay. I want to leave soon.  
There was no response, and Hvitserk leaned against the kitchen fridge and brought the cup to his lips. The longer he drank the beer the less it tasted like beer and the more it tasted like piss. But he couldn’t bring himself to tolerate the party any other way.  
* * * * * * * * * * * *   
The vodka poured into her mouth like water. The bottle growing lighter with every gulp she took. Anya fell back onto Hanna’s bed, the vodka bottle sloshing at the sudden movement. Her therapist warned her that the medication would have a reverse effect when alcohol was involved. As if she knew exactly the kind of friends Anya had, and how they would spend their Friday nights. She didn’t believe her at the time. But as the bottle grew lighter, she felt worse and worse.   
Her friends were full of ignorance. They barely noticed her slip away from the pong table in the dining room and sneak up the stairs. With every shot they took she only thought more of Iceland, and the lie hanging over her head. When they learned the truth would they hate her? Cast her off like some kind of reject?   
She fought back the tears that threatened the ruin the eye makeup on her face. It was foolish. She wasn’t even sure why she wanted to cry--the sadness just wouldn’t stop. Anya lifted her arm holding the bottle and froze. Her gaze stuck on the faded scars slashed across her flesh. If she blinked fast enough she could almost see the blood pouring from them like a faucet. Almost.  
The boys downstairs looked at her and her friends like hungry wolves. They circled constantly, waiting for one to talk to them. She even caught Sigurd’s eye at the pong table. Despite her mother’s rule that didn’t stop Ubbe from giving her a hug or Sigurd telling her how pretty she looked. But they weren’t different from the other guys that found themselves next to her that night. Just another pretty face to fuck.   
The bedroom door flew open. “I promise she won’t care. She’s done it at my house before!”   
Anya flew up into a sitting position, the bottle nearly falling to the floor. Her eyes fell on Ragga and Ubbe in the doorway. Her dress was already hiked up, and his large arms were wrapped around her waist. So much for finding somewhere quiet.   
“Oh, Anya!” Ragga’s face grew red. “I didn’t know you were in here.”  
Anya rose from the bed and shook her head. “It’s fine, I was just tired.”   
Ragga raised a brow. Anya could see the skepticism on her face. But they were drunk, and Ubbe was still tugging on the hem of her dress. If she was lucky neither of them would remember this when they were sober.   
“Honestly, you’re fine. I have to go find Hanna anyways.” Anya walked around them toward the door.   
“You’re sure?” Ragga watched her.   
“Yeah. It’s fine. Have fun.” Before Ragga could say anything Anya shut the door behind her. It would take only a minute before she forgot the conversation anyways.   
The house felt hotter, if possible. She took another swig from the vodka bottle and weaved through the crowd. There was no sight of Frida, Freydis, or Hanna. No doubt they were all still in the basement playing pong or flip cup. But her patience had long run out for games.   
* * * * * * * * * * * * *   
“I told you, I’m leaving soon!” He shouted through the phone.  
Nothing but loud voices and music answered him. It was stupid to call her during a party, but after a half hour he found himself on the back porch with his cup growing empty fast.   
“I’ll be out soon!” He barely heard Margrethe’s voice on the other end before she hung up.   
He leaned against the stair railing and sighed. The beer was making him more tired by the minute, and he suddenly found the party as fun to be at as a funeral. The air was still warm despite it being late. Though he could feel the chill of fall approaching. Before he knew it, it would be snowing again.  
Then it would be Spring and Ubbe would graduate. Leaving Hvitserk at home with Sigurd, Ivar, and their mother when fall approached once again. Dread coiled in his stomach at the thought. It’s still a year away. He thought. I have a year till he leaves us for University.   
His thoughts were interrupted when the screen door opened behind him. He perked up from the railing, hoping that Margrethe finally got the message that he was ready to leave. Though an unfamiliar groan came out from behind him, and he lost the sudden hope that it was the person he was looking for.  
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t think someone was out here.”  
Hvitserk turned to face the voice he already knew belonged to her. Though she looked different than in school. Instead of her hair knotted into a braid, it fell in endless waves down her torso. That same torso wrapped in a blue dress that reminded him of the sea that surrounded their town. Her eyes bloodshot--no doubt from the massive bottle of vodka in her hand. It was already half gone, and Hvitserk could only imagine what damage was done if she did it herself.   
“It’s okay, Anya.”   
Her eyes widened. “Hvitserk?”  
“The one and only.”   
She turned to go back through the door. “I’ll leave you alone.”   
“No, honestly it’s fine.” He began. “I’m probably heading out soon anyways.”  
It was the first time they spoke in years. And he wondered if it was just the alcohol giving him the courage to do so. She was still the freckled bundle of nerves he knew years before. Only now she looked more like a woman than a little girl.   
She turned back from the door and sat beside him on the wooden step. “I don’t think so.”   
His stomach coiled. “Why?” She wouldn’t know about Margrethe, she couldn’t have.   
“Your brother is with my best friend upstairs.” She brought the bottle to her lips, and Hvitserk watched the clear liquid fall into her mouth.   
“Oh, I’ll probably just leave without him.”  
She held out the bottle to him and he nodded before grasping it from her hand. The liquid made him shiver as it went down his throat. It was much stronger than the beer everyone else was drinking in the living room.   
A laugh escaped her lips at his reaction “It’s cheap shit. Tastes like gasoline till you get used to it.”  
Hvitserk chuckled and took another swig before handing it back to her. “You’re right about that.”  
They sat in silence for a few minutes. The only noise being the crickets that echoed into the night and vibrations from the house. Yet as awkward as it should have felt, neither of them seemed to notice.   
“I’m sorry about Ivar.” He spilled.  
Her emerald gaze fell on him, one brow raised. “What about him?”  
He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “You know, on Tuesday? I told him he shouldn’t say shit like that. He just wanted to freak everyone else out.”  
She visibly flinched and it made a knot build in his throat. “It worked.”  
Guilt filled him. His family caused her enough problems in the past. She didn’t need more of it. It wasn’t a surprise her mother forbid them from hanging out with one another after everything. He was surprised she even bothered to talk to him now.  
“It worked on me too.”  
Silence fell over them again. After a few moments she held out the bottle again and he took a welcoming swig. Questions plagued him. He wanted to ask why she was in the counseling session in the first place, and what about what Ivar said made her lose it. He wondered if it was same he reasons he did. But it wasn’t worth ruining a buzz over. Come Monday they would go back to not talking to one another again.  
Her voice finally broke the silence. “I thought my mother would tell me I didn’t have to go anymore if I told her you and Ivar were there.”   
They both chuckled at that.   
“Well, I guess it didn’t work since you were still there the rest of the week.” He handed the bottle back.  
She took a sip before placing it on the stair below her. “Yeah. She just told me to avoid you guys. Like someone can avoid Ivar. Thanks mom.”   
Hvitserk shook his head, a smirk on his face. “Yeah you’re right about that.”  
“Sorry about your dad by the way. I wasn’t here when it happened.”   
He shrugged. “It’s fine. I wasn’t either. Bjorn and I were in Spain.”  
“It still sucks though.” She sighed, her back leaning against the step. “Especially with everyone in the school talking about it. Like they know anything.”  
His gaze fell to the grass. “They never do.”   
There was so much he wanted to ask her then. Why she wasn’t home that summer, if the counseling had anything to do with it, it she thought he was a shitty person for hooking up with his brothers ex. It shouldn’t have mattered what she thought about him. Not anymore. But now Anya was next to him and it felt like they were children again. Their feet dangling over the docks while their fathers talked business with shipments.   
“Hey Anya--”  
“Hvitserk!”   
The pair turned around to find Margrethe standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened at the sight of Anya beside him. Terror built in his throat upon realizing that Anya was witnessing everything he worked so hard to keep a secret.   
“Hey,” He was quick to get to his feet. “I’ll meet you out front in a second.”   
She stood still. Her gaze falling from Anya, who looked just as confused, to back to him with urgency. No doubt she would scold him for being careless. But it wasn’t his fault she took over an hour to leave.   
“Sure.” She slid the door behind her.   
Hvitserk cursed under his breath. “I have to go.”   
Anya nodded and turned her gaze back to the grass beyond the stairs. “See you around.” Her words coming out slurred.   
Hvitserk headed to the door before pausing with his hand against the handle. “Anya?”  
It took a moment before she said anything, her lips pressed against the bottle before returning it beside her feet. “I won’t say anything.”  
“That’s not what--”  
“Don’t worry about it, Hvitserk.”   
He let out a sigh and went back in through the door. The redhead from his past and the night sky falling behind him. It took him a good few minutes to get to the front door, and Margrethe was waiting in the driveway. A scowl marred her features and Hvitserk could already feel her impending wrath.   
“What the hell was that?” She hissed.  
Hvitserk grabbed her arm and began walking down the sidewalk. “Nothing. She won’t say anything.”  
“Are you kidding me?” Margrethe stopped dead in her tracks, pulling Hvitserk with her. “She’s one of them, they spread everything!”   
“She’s could care less about what we’re doing, Margrethe.”   
“Why were you even talking to her?” She pressed. “You aren’t friends.”  
“I was waiting for you and she came out. It was either twiddle my thumbs or talk to her.”  
“That’s not what it looked like.”  
Anger rose inside of him. “Are you kidding me right now? I was waiting for you. You’re drunk.”  
“So are you.” She waved her pointer finger at him. “I saw the way you were looking at her.”  
Hvitserk took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before they opened again. His head was spinning, and it took every ounce of control not to tell her off, knowing he’d regret it in the morning. “I’m just gonna go home.”   
Margrethe let out a scoff. “Are you serious? Why did you even wait for me?”  
Hvitserk ignored her remarks and turned toward the other direction. He could see the light from his house looking at the top of the hill a mile ahead.   
“Hvitserk!” She called, but he didn’t hear her run after him.   
A few seconds later he heard her cursing at him. But soon enough her voice and the noise from the party were far away. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his head and his sneakers against the concrete. Rage filled him at the thought of Margrethe’s accusations. After everything he risked to be with her she assumed he’d just throw it away. And she didn’t bother to run after him. But that said enough about their rebounded relationship that neither wanted to accept.   
How was he looking at Anya? What did she even mean by that? Despite the warm familiarity between them he knew things would go back to normal on Monday when they went to counseling. She would sit on the other side of the room, pretending to be consumed by her sketchbook. And he would pretend to listen to Ivar while he bitched and moaned about the trivial problems the other kids had.   
Things would go back to the way they were supposed to. They always did.


	6. The Blue Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really busy lately with real life. But I wanted to make it up to my readers by making the chapter a little longer than average. For the most part this is a filler, but I promise the plot will pick up soon. Thank you for all the kudos, comments, and subscriptions. I really appreciate it. Enjoy.

She woke to a dull throb in her lower back, the bones in her spine pressed against a hard surface. A glaring light of bright heat greeted her tired eyes. Anya cursed silently under alcohol scented breath. The emerald grass and dull wooden porch spun as her torso rose into a sitting position. The previous night a headache induced blur that she wasn’t in a hurry to remember. An empty bottle of vodka laid beside her, no doubt the main contributor of the painful pulse in her head. Anya didn’t remember falling asleep out on the porch, but then again she didn’t remember much in general.  
Her head fell in her hands, a light moan escaping chapped lips. The previous night played through her head as a blur. The party. God knew where her friends were. Hadn’t they noticed she wasn’t curled upstairs beside them in Hanna’s bed. Somehow the four always ended up together by the end of the night. Waking up with matching hangovers and pulling straws over which one of them was unlucky enough to drive to the diner for breakfast. A tradition that felt a hundred years away. Her first party since last year spent on the back porch alone, nothing but a bottle of vodka for company.  
Not just the vodka though.  
It was difficult to piece the conversation together. But she remembered the black tee he donned, and the blue jeans. How the shirt was just tight enough that it clung to the slight muscle that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe she was just too blind to notice before then. His hair longer, almost down to his shoulders. But like always it was tied up leaving her to wonder why he grew it out at all. Years of Aslaug’s terrible haircuts as a child must have traumatized him. Ragnar holding him down in the living room chair while he thrashed and wailed at the sound of the razor. A ghost of a smile tugged against her lips at the memory, quickly replaced with a frown. Holding onto the past was useless. The boy that chased her through the woods behind her house as a boy was gone. Just as her body slowly rotted into the shell it was today.  
“I won’t tell.”  
Words with a double meaning. But he only took the obvious one. Head wrapped around a girl that Anya never found special. Margrethe was one of the rare ones, moving to Kattegat long after the incident. She remembered the first day of seventh grade, gossip spreading like wildfire. A new girl. Something that hadn’t happened since Freydis moved there two years prior. A beautiful eighth grader with the blonde hair and not a pimple on her face. Ragga used to say the awe would fade. It eventually did when she found herself wrapped in Ubbe a year later. But that never stopped her jealousy at the sight of the girl with her old friends. That could have been me. A foolish thought, likely produced by whatever alcohol was left in her system. The basket case judging the promiscuous, what had the world come to?  
Her hands pressed to the dress now ridden up to a dangerous height. Anxiety coiling around her throat at the realization that her phone was long forgotten. More than likely tangled in sheets that she didn’t want to look through. Another hazy memory of Ragga and Ubbe lost in one another coming back to her. Unless her mother changed overnight, there was no doubt the pair were woken up by the photo vibrating constantly. If the charge wasn’t dead.  
She rose quickly to her feet, the yard suddenly spinning as she did. An involuntary merry go round that left nausea building into her throat and drops of sweat on her face. It came out a vodka and gin filled waterfall that smelled about as good as it felt leaving her throat. Her torso convulsing over the railing as her arms clung to the beams for support.  
“Fuck.”  
Hanna was sitting at the island in the kitchen when she finally made her way in. Red cups littered on almost every inch of it, except the one spot where a bowl of barely eaten cereal sat. Her friend’s hair pulled into a knot, looking as dead as Anya felt. With bloodshot eyes glued to her phone screen, the other didn’t even notice she entered the house. Her fingers rapidly pressing onto the screen a mile a minute.  
“Hanna?” She croaked.  
Her friend’s face lifted from the screen, emerald hues wide in surprise. “Hey, you’re still here?”  
The redhead nodded. “Yeah, I passed out on the porch.”  
“Oh my god, Anya.” The other shook her head with light laughter.  
She eased her posture. “I know. Where’s the others?”  
Hanna’s expression changed rapidly enough that Anya barely noticed it. What looked like a mixture of anger and irritation appeared on her face before it was replaced with a blank frown and a shrug. “Who knows?”  
Anya’s eyes widened. “You don’t know?”  
Hanna shook her head. “Freydis left last night, probably with Einar. Frida left early this morning.”  
“What about Ragga?”  
Her scowl returned this time without effort to shield it. “I kicked her and Ubbe out an hour ago. I passed out on the couch, and found them naked in my bed. Now I have to burn the sheets.”  
In any other circumstance Anya would have laughed, it only would have made matters worse. “Oh.”  
“I know.” Hanna placed her phone beside the bowl. “I get they were drunk, but you couldn’t do it on the couch or something? I’m surprised they’re even still doing it. It’s not like she’s the first person he’s gotten with since Margrethe.”  
Anya flinched at the venom in her friend’s voice. Suddenly uncomfortable in a house she once considered more of a home than her own. The diner tradition long gone from everyone’s mind but her own. _I guess that’s what happens when you’re gone for three months._ Hanna never held bitter words before, at least towards them. It wasn’t like Ubbe was what she wanted. But then again Anya wouldn’t want one of them having sex in her bed either.  
“Have you seen my phone?”  
The blonde nodded. “Yeah, it’s on my nightstand. Your mom called like thirty times.”  
Fear sliced at her throat. “Oh?”  
“Yeah don’t worry about it, I told her you were still here.” She rose from the island, taking the bowl to the sink. “I said I’d take you home since you didn’t have a car.”  
“But how did you know I was still here?”  
She shrugged. “I didn’t. But you weren’t home yet so I figured I’d find out where you ran off eventually.”  
Eventually.  
Her gaze fell to the floor. “Well, thanks for covering for me.”  
“Of course, Anya. You’re the only friend I’m not annoyed with right now anyways.”  
If it weren’t for the pounding headache, and discomfort, Anya might have probed Hanna further on the subject. But it seemed neither girl wanted to discuss the previous night. A blessing wrapped in a mess of a hangover.  
“Hanna? I feel bad asking--”  
“Yeah I can drive you.”  
“Oh, are you sure?”  
For the first time that morning her friend gave her a genuine smile. “Of course. It’s not like Ragga can take you now.”  
“Thanks Hanna.”  
“No problem.”  
Discomfort filled the room once more. Any other year she would have spilled everything to her friends. Hvitserk and Margrethe were a rumor spreading like wildfire, despite his best efforts. And Anya held the proof, yet she couldn’t bring herself to mention it. An unsung loyalty that she never could quite let go.  
“I can help you clean up first.” She chimed. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”  
Hanna waved a hand in the air, once more consumed in her phone. “It’s fine. I’ll get to it at some point today. Just grab your stuff upstairs, we can head out when you’re ready.”  
Dismissed just as quickly. With a soft sigh, Anya started down the hall toward the staircase. She didn’t know what felt worse, her head, or the state of her friends.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
He rose with a gasp. Ice licking his cheeks, his boxers soaked through with water that only induced nightmares.  
“Good morning, gorgeous.”  
A blurred form stood--no rather sat beside his bed. A sardonic grin on his face and empty pitcher turned downward in his bony fingers. A few blinks proved his suspicions as Ivar leaned back in Hvitserk’s desk chair, his crutches tossed on the floor by the door.  
“What the fuck, Ivar?”  
A dark chuckled emitted from his brother. “It’s three, mother was getting worried. She told me to wake you up before our guests came for dinner tonight.”  
Hvitserk shook his head, water dripping from his nose onto the wet sheets. Only Ivar was sick enough to pour cold water on him. Seconds later he fell back onto the drenched pillow, ragged breaths leaving his lips. While Ivar only stared silently.  
“It’s just water, Hvitserk.”  
His voice sounded smaller then. “No it’s not. You’re fucked up.”  
Ivar shook his head. “Relax princess. Sigurd tried waking you up for a half hour before he gave up. I figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”  
“How thoughtful of you.”  
“You look a lot better now with the water, if that’s any consolation.”  
Hvitserk’s eyes cut through Ivar like twin daggers, leaving the other’s grin to grow. But his gaze quickly shifted to the crutches strewn on the floor, and the trail of water leading to his bed.  
“Did you get up here yourself?”  
Ivar rolled his eyes. “No, Sigurd carried me like a baby.” Obvious sarcasm laced in his tone.  
Hvitserk shook his head. “Mother would kill you, you know.”  
“I doubt she’ll notice.” Ivar retorted. “Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve snuck up here. I’m not as helpless as you think.”  
Hvitserk could recall the countless times his mother would yell at Ivar. He gained a knack for crawling when his wheelchair became a hinderance. Calluses built up on his elbows and palms, and often rug burns plagued his knobby knees. His brother’s usually turned a blind eye. Not surprised by anything the youngest managed to do anymore.  
“Where’s Ubbe?”  
Ivar snorted. “He just took Margrethe 2.0 home. Mother found them in his room and freaked.”  
“Since when does she care about that?”  
“Normally she doesn’t.” The other shrugged. “But like I said we’re having guests tonight, she’s on edge.”  
Hvitserk ignored his comment. Probably someone from his father’s company, or an associate looking for an in. It wasn’t the first time they dealt with a dinner party. He often tuned everything out, his mind miles away while Aslaug and the other’s talked boring business statistics over wine. They would ask him how school was, how the team was playing. Then they’d move onto Ubbe and what his plans were for the future. A welcome reprieve. Gazing into judgemental gazes for too long left his breathing hindered and knees shaking.  
A heavy silence fell between the two before Hvitserk found his voice once more. “Why did you call her that?”  
“Who?”  
“Ragga. You called her Margrethe 2.0.”  
Ivar rolled his eyes. “I think that speaks for itself.”  
They couldn’t have been more different. Most girls in Kattegat fit the same stock, blonde hair, blue eyes. It was monotonous, but typical for their region. Whenever a woman with dark hair or striking eyes was in sight, people would often take notice. But their personalities, very different. One quiet, but striking when she managed to find her voice. The other loud to make up for the insecurities eating her alive.  
“They’re nothing alike” He murmured.  
“Whose nothing alike?” A third voice interjected.  
Ubbe stood in the doorway, his matted hair hidden underneath a baseball cap. Red rims under his eyes, and his white tee inside out. It reminded Hvitserk of the morning of their father’s funeral. Ubbe always put together. It was rare to witness him out of sorts.  
“Speak of the devil,” Ivar began, his voice sardonic. “And he shall appear.”  
Ubbe raised a brow, his blue gaze falling on Hvitserk who returned a shrug. “Don’t look at me, I just woke up.”  
Ivar nodded, motioning to the empty pitcher in his hand.  
“You twat.” A wicked grin tugged against Ubbe’s lips. “You’re lucky it wasn’t me you did that too.”  
“Or what? You’d throw me down the stairs.”  
“In my defense, I probably would if I wasn’t so hungover.” Hvitserk retorted.  
The three of them laughed in sync. Something they hadn’t genuinely done in months. It was a foreign experience. He almost forgot the sound of Ivar’s laughter, or the way Ubbe’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. But just as quickly as it arrived, the moment vanished from the sound of the front door.  
“Ivar?”  
The trio froze as their mother’s footsteps paced up the staircase. No doubt imagining the worst once she didn’t see her son in his bedroom beside the living room. Though none of them spoke, knowing better than to subject Ivar to her smothering. Even if a sick part of him enjoyed it at times. Always holding their mother’s love like a selfish child while the other three were left in the dust. Forgotten memories as cold as the ice that almost consumed three of them all those years ago.  
“Ivar. What did I tell you about going upstairs by yourself?” Ever the whirlwind, Aslaug flew into the room, pushing past her eldest son. Ubbe simply rolling his eyes at her. “What if you fell?”  
The youngest let out a soft sigh, his back pressed against the desk chair. “You told me to wake Hvitserk up.”  
“No, I told you to tell Sigurd to wake him up.”  
Like he wasn’t in the room, they bickered back and forth like an old married couple. Hvitserk could hardly stand it.  
“Well Sigurd is in the bathroom down the hall, upchucking last night’s fun.” Ivar narrowed his gaze. “So I had no choice but to wake Hvitserk myself. He is a very deep sleeper mother, one could have thought he was dead at first glance.”  
“Ivar.” Ubbe growled in warning.  
But it was too late, Hvitserk barely noticed it. But he could just notice his mother’s spine coil as if tugged by a string. Her eyes rimmed in black eyeliner, wider than he would have liked.  
Hvitserk raised his slightly. “I just want to say, I’m fine. Just wet.”  
Her expression immediately softened, a quizzical smirk on her face observing the sheets stained with water. “Well, good thing you have a spare set.”  
Ubbe leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “What time are the evil twins coming over?”  
And just as quickly as it appeared her smile faded. “They’re not twins.”  
“Could have fooled me.” Ubbe huffed. “You never see one without the other.”  
“Who?” Ivar interjected.  
“Harald and Halfdan.”  
Nausea began to flood Hvitserk. Just the mere thought of the pair sending him into a daze. Harald reminding him of a chameleon. Back in Spain he stuck by Bjron and Hvitserk, buying them drinks and acting as if he was one of their brothers. At Ragnar’s funeral he offered Hvitserk condolences in the form of a bottle of scotch and some cigars. A gift much too mature for someone his age, but a message all the less. If you stay on my good side, your life will prosper. If not--well, he didn’t want to know what happened if he wasn’t on the man’s good side. Now the initial wound of Ragnar was healing, and Hvitserk didn’t doubt Harald was prepared to strike. Catch their mother off guard and trick her into making a deal with the devil.  
“They’re bad news.” Hvitserk mumbled.  
Aslaug’s eyes held sympathy. “Everyone is bad news, Hvitserk. It just depends how much of it you’re willing to tolerate.”  
None of them had anything to say to that. Even Ivar who chewed on his lower lip, gaze narrowed onto the floor. When it came to dealings with their father’s business none of them dared to overstep their boundaries. Their mother was running it just fine without their help. And it wasn’t his company to take on. Eventually it would fall to Ubbe, and he would take it out of duty rather than joy. Knowing well enough that the others may never be ready for such pressures.  
“That is why I rushed home though.” Aslaug’s voice cutting through the void. “They aren’t coming here after all.”  
Ivar looked up once more, disbelief on his face. “Then why is your hair and makeup all done up?”  
“I was getting to that.” She huffed. “They decided to treat the five of us to dinner at the Blue Fish tonight instead of all the work it would take for me to throw a dinner party. That is why I wanted all of you awake, and alone.” Accusing eyes falling on Ubbe as she emphasized the last word. “I need you all dressed and ready to go by five. Shirts and ties, no excuses. And Ubbe dear use some eye drops, you look terrible. I told you it’s not good to sleep in your contacts.”  
“I don’t think it was the contacts.” Ivar mumbled, resulting in a shove from Hvitserk.  
“And you,” She pointed at her youngest. “Need to get downstairs so I can help you change.”  
Ivar grumbled in his chair, but didn’t protest further. He knew just as well as the others how important the dinner was. Their mother being smoozed by two silver tongues that despised hearing no for an answer. Not to mention she was ever the impressionist. Carefully constructing the image of their ‘perfect’ family in the big house on top of the hill. A facade Harald and Halfdan saw through like glass. And they would come prepared with stones to throw.  
“Do you need help?” Hvitserk asked. His gazed trained on Ivar who shakily rose from the chair, his knuckles white on the arm rest.  
“I got it.” Ubbe approached, forcing Ivar to wrap an arm around his shoulder. A routine Hvitserk had seen a thousand times, but found it no easier to watch as the years went on.  
Hvitserk watched as the three left the room, Aslaug carrying her youngest’s crutches in tow. But she quickly turned her head back before following the pair ahead of her, expression unreadable. “Remember, be ready. Make sure Sigurd looks presentable too.”  
He nodded. “Yes, mother.”  
“Thank you, Hvitserk.”  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“You’ve hardly touched the appetizer.”  
The irritation in her mother’s voice increased every time she opened her mouth. Anya’s gaze rose from the menu she was hardly looking through, to the mirror image before her. An identical pair of emerald eyes full of annoyance and slight concern. The platter of meats and cheeses between pair was hardly touched despite the enticing aroma that came from them.  
“I’m trying to see what I want to order first.” She lied.  
Her mother raised a skeptical brow before returning to her own menu. If she knew her daughter was painfully hungover, she didn’t mention it. Possibly taking the advice of her therapist that it was better not to scold her outright. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be passive aggressive about the issue the entire night.  
“The sea bass is good.” Her mother offered, as if they hadn’t been here a thousand times before.  
The Blue Fish was overpriced, as much of a facade of decadence and grandeur as half the people in their town. But those with pockets large enough to pay flocked there in droves, filled with gossip and empty promises. It was her father’s favorite restaurant when he still lived in Kattegat. Often taking Anya and her mother there every weekend, or clients when he felt like kissing their asses enough. Her mother never quite lost the taste for it, even after the divorce gave her less than she desired. Her monthly support payments from Sigvard drying up as quickly as they arrived. But it wasn’t Anya’s place to comment on it.  
Her blouse felt suffocating, despite it’s loose fit. She constantly found herself itching her arms, or grabbing the fabric. Like a doll on display, she felt fake. Preferring to just eat pizza on the couch at home, watching movies with Ragga. Her back still sore and bruised from the night spent on Hanna’s porch.  
“I was thinking about the scampi.” She replied.  
Her mother nodded her head. “I’ve always liked that.”  
Anya reached out to the platter with thin fingers, her mother’s gaze heavy despite pretending to be more interested in sea bass. The slice of summer sausage that normally held a spice that left her belly warm long after it was gone. But tonight it only tasted of bile and paste as she slowly chewed it. Doing her best to not appear in pain as she took another piece. After the first few her mother began to relax in her seat, the protective wings withdrawn for a blessed few moments.  
“Oh of course.” The older woman scoffed. “We can’t go anywhere.”  
Anya’s head rose, to find her mother’s gaze on the entrance of the restaurant. The hostess in light conversation with a woman that was supposed to be dead to them years before. No less regal than she had been when they were children. Her hair swept up, and eyes lined in charcoal. Arm wrapped around a man who held familiarity, but she couldn’t quite place it. Years of disconnect leaving the man’s face no more than a stranger. Another stood behind the pair, intricate ink spiraling down into his collar. His face less severe, but no less unnerving.  
“Do you know them?” She whispered.  
Her mother nodded. “It’s been years. Obviously someone desperate, but I couldn’t say for sure who.”  
She lifted her gaze once more, spotting the familiar wheels being pushed by a brother that would have thrown the chair forward if they weren’t in public. His gaze trained on the floor in front of him like an obedient dog. Just hours before he bragged to her in a drunken state how he was the only one in his grade to make varsity, and how he’d be better than both Ubbe and Hvitserk kicking that ball down the field by the end of the season.  
“It’s too bad your mom hates us. You’re still so hot.” Sigurd mused, his breath full of booze.  
“I think I’m going to look for Freydis, I’ll be back.” She didn’t come back.  
Most of the group strolled past them without a glace. Aslaug and the first man behind the hostess who lead them toward a private dining room. Followed by the other who kept his gaze on Ivar and Sigurd, as if he was waiting for their tempers to erupt any second. Ivar’s jaw clenched, his cold gaze straight ahead, just like his brother’s. The final two, engaged in conversation appeared the least severe. Ubbe’s eyes still slightly red, but the grin on his face making up for it. Hvitserk beside him, his eyes bright with humor. It wouldn’t have surprised her if they were mocking their situation. She surely would have been. The Bluefish was enough of a fantasy without strolling in like royalty. But then again, half the town viewed them as such.  
“...I know I just wanna pass out, I didn’t get home till after four.” The familiar voice that reminded her of rustling leaves filled her ears, his laughter carrying long after they passed.  
She could feel her mother’s stare on her once more. But Anya ignored it. Half the restaurant watched as they walked past. It wasn’t strange for her to hold curiosity.  
“The waitress is coming.” Her mother’s voice like ice. “Do you know what you want yet?”  
The rest of their meal was awkward. Anya’s mother wound like a coiled spring, her gaze falling incessantly to the other dining room, the pair of red doors at the entrance shut. Only opening whenever a waiter stepped inside. Anya picked at her scampi, barely putting the food her mouth. Her appetite worsening with ever awkward minute spent in the restaurant.  
“You’re being obvious.” Her voice blunt.  
For the first time since the group arrived, her mother’s gaze fell on her. Full of resentment aimed at another. “No I’m not.”  
Anya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”  
“I just don’t see why they need to be in a private dining room.” The other scoffed. “Are the rest of us not good enough?”  
Animosity rose within her, for people that she shouldn’t have cared for. Yet years later her mother still absorbed her life into a family that had greater issues than the woman who was upset about what happened when their children were young.  
“Maybe it’s because they know people like you will be eavesdropping.” Anya hissed.  
Her mother’s eyes widened in surprise, before narrowing like the blades of a knife. The brunt of her wrath now aimed at Anya. “You have no--”  
“Elin.” A voice purred.  
Anya spun her seat, an unknown panic rising at the sight of the man who entered the restaurant with Aslaug in tow. Much more intimidating up close, the chocolate hues of his eyes soft, but there was no smile on his lips. His glance more calculating, a cat pawing at the bickering mice who hadn’t heard him sneak up. Red heat filled her cheeks, suddenly feeling like a child ready to be scolded. But the man was not looking at her, only at her mother. Her face white as a ghost.  
“Harold.”  
“I thought I saw you when I walked in, but it’s been quite some time.” He approached, resting a hand covered in ink on the back of Anya’s seat.  
But her gaze remained on her mother, who still appeared no less surprised then before. Like a ghost was standing before them. Holding all the secrets that had been carefully boxed away over the years.  
The woman shook her head. “It has, but that is how time works-unfortunately.”  
His smile grew sinister then, like a cat pining for the mouse. Her mother playing the part all too well with her wide eyes and coward stance. She only stiffened when the man’s attention suddenly fell on Anya. His gaze strong enough that she could feel it even with her eyes trained on her mother. No doubt aware of who she was. But it had been years since he saw the girl with a tuft of fire atop her head.  
“This must be Anya.” He purred. “My how you’ve grown. You must be almost done with school by now.”  
Blue eyes fell on his, her fist digging into the wood of the chair he insisted on hovering over. A natural predator. “I still have a year left, after this one.” Silently she cursed at the shakiness in her voice. Not quite confident enough to appear sound.  
“Ah, for some reason I thought you and Ubbe were in the same year. I must have been mistaken.”  
She could just make out her mother’s flinch out of the corner of her eye. A sparkle suddenly gleaming in Harald’s eye at the noticeable discomfort.  
“You must have.” Anya responded.  
“No matter then,” He began. “All you kids look the same age right now. I imagine Sigvard would have his hands full if he weren’t in Iceland right now.”  
Despite the friendliness of his tone, it was an obvious jab. Enough to leave a pit deep enough in her stomach that the scampi on her plate no longer looked appetizing.  
“He’s been in Iceland, Harald. That is nothing new.” Her mother’s tone like ice.  
“You’re right, I suppose divorce will do that to a man, drive him from his home.” He replied, his tone just as cold. “I should confess that we did speak recently over the phone. When Ragnar died we had to discuss some trade deals left in our names.”  
It had been almost a year since she heard her father’s voice. Even when she did it was often miles away, hardly listening to what she had to share. It’d been like that since the divorce, his detachment from her obvious to everyone like a pink elephant in the room. The thought of the man speaking to someone like Harald Finehair but ignoring his own daughter, left a bitter taste in the girl’s mouth. For months she was sent to voicemail, or only given something as useless as a short letter. But it never contained more than a few sentences.  
“He was quite distracted though,” The man continued. “Said that he had quite a lot on his plate, and that Anya was spending the summer with him. But I thought to myself ‘hmm, why would your estranged daughter suddenly want to spend the summer with her father’, in Iceland no less? Surely there are better places to enjoy a holiday.”  
“Harald.” Her mother warned.  
“It took some probing, but he finally gave in. Said he was stressed because his daughter was in a psychiatric hospital in Olso for attempting--”  
“I need to be excused.” Anya announced. Her chair flying back and whacking Harald in the chest. Although he only responded with a chuckle as she flew by him like a whirlwind.  
“Anya!” Her mother’s voice too far away to hear anymore.  
The only place that felt right to go was the exit. The late summer air greeting her as she stepped through the doors. Her breathing ragged, as if she’d just run a marathon. Her eyes stung fresh tears. Anya took off toward the side of the restaurant, where entering patrons couldn’t gawk at her like a zoo animal.  
“Bastard!” She seethed.  
Now she remembered why her mother froze at the sight of him. Why whenever he paid visits to her father as a child he told Anya to go outside or in the other room. The man a natural predator, weakening his prey in any way he could. Reducing her to no more than a basket case, announcing the summer’s dilemma in front of a number of people in Kattegat. Harald wanted to upset her mother, and the best way was to attack her daughter. The girl that already struggled to get out of bed everyday. A weak diversion to prey on the strong. She could only imagine what he really wanted. But whatever it was, he’d surely get it now that her mother’s guard was down.  
Bile rose in her throat, the contents of her dinner threatening to spill over as she rounded the corner. She had half a mind to just walk home. Not too far from the restaurant. But most importantly she’d be away from that awful man and his brother. A man probably just as vicious and cunning. With the tattoos and demeanor to match.  
“Oh shit.” A voice cut from her train of thought.  
Surprise filled her wet eyes, followed by panic. Why was she cursed? Running into the last person she wanted to see in the most inconvenient situations. “Oh, sorry!” She nearly shouted.  
Hvitserk perched against the wall of the restaurant. A burning cigarette in one hand, and the tie around his neck gone loose draped over his shoulders. Confusion painted his features at the sight of her. No doubt just as surprised to run into her again. But just as quickly her red face and ragged breaths had registered, replacing his befuddlement with a look of concern.  
“Anya?”  
“You know it’s me, don’t play dumb.” She hissed.  
He rose a brow. “Okay...you alright?”  
She wanted to snap at him. Come with razor sharp teeth and taste blood. But her rage was directed at another. And tearing into Hvitserk would only cause more grief than relief.  
“No.”  
A sigh left his thin lips. Either not expecting her to voice the truth and completely unprepared how to respond, or not in the mood to deal with her antics. She didn’t blame him if that was the reason. Anya didn’t want to deal with herself on most days.  
“Want some?” He held out his cigarette. “It helps me relax.”  
She hesitated for a moment, that being the last thing she expected him to say. Waiting a few moments, she reached out and took it from his hand. Bringing it to her lips, she took a long drag. The nicotine filling her with a familiarity she hadn't tasted since last summer. Her last cigarette worlds away before everything fell apart. It almost brought her pain pulling it away from her lips.  
“Thanks.” She mumbled, handing it back to him.  
But rather than grab the cigarette, Hvitserk shook his head. “Go ahead and finish it, I have more here.” He patted the pocket of his dress pants.  
Once more Anya brought the cigarette to her lips. The two standing in silence for what felt like hours. The look on his face unreadable, as if he felt nothing at all. But he was always good at doing that. Pretending as if the entire world wasn’t crashing around him. Whereas Ivar and Sigurd were always emotionally driven. Their anger often too difficult to tame. Whereas Hvitserk was the calm before the storm of his brothers. Something she had come to admire from afar. But she couldn’t help but wonder where his playful demeanor had gone over the years. No longer the silly boy that tugged on her pigtails and sang sweet songs. Life had a habit of doing that to people. Sucking out everything worth admiring and leaving nothing but a lifeless shell. The girl she was years ago long dead. A corpse rotting beneath the ice. While whoever stood in her place couldn’t go a few hours without wishing she’d disappear.  
His voice finally broke the silence. “Sorry about last night again.”  
Swollen eyes found his. “Why?”  
“I don’t know,” He began. “I just am.”  
It wasn’t as if Margrethe was her ex girlfriend. Unaware of Ubbe’s emotions, Anya doubted he would be pleased to learn that she and Hvitserk were an item. While he often found himself lost in her friend it was a rebound. A rebound filled with lustful gazes and sleepless nights. Nothing like that lasted forever. And Anya would be there once they grew bored of one another, promising Ragga a night of venting and bottles of her mother’s schnapps.  
“You’re not gonna catch me telling anyone. I like staying out of drama, despite popular opinion.”  
A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah well, I keep running into you when you look like a hurricane. It has me thinking otherwise.”  
If only he knew that the thoughts that haunted her at night had nothing to do with school or boys. “Yeah well, you have shit timing.” She retorted.  
“Fair enough.”  
He pulled another cigarette from his pocket, lighting it between his teeth. The smell of nicotine once more filled the air like an old friend. While most found it disgusting, she quite liked the smell. Always strong, clinging to your clothes like a second skin.  
“How long have you been with her?”  
Hvitserk nearly swallowed the cigarette, his gaze widening. “I, uh..a bit.”  
“A bit?” She pressed.  
“Since July.”  
It didn’t take a genius to do the math. The memory of the other night fresh in her brain, Ragga stating that Margrethe dumped Ubbe in July. Then a week later and Freydis’ birthday party he found himself tangled with Ragga in the hottub. Also around the time their father died. Not that she bore witness to any of it. Trapped behind four white walls until a few weeks prior.  
“I didn’t peg her as your type.”  
“My type?” He snickered. “As if you’d know anything about that.”  
Anya narrowed her gaze. “It wouldn’t be hard to guess.”  
“Except the last time we actually hung out I still picked my nose and thought that the Ravens in the trees could talk.”  
A memory she’d never forget. The pair hiding beneath his father’s truck, waiting for the ravens to fly away. Lest they share all of their secrets with the world.  
A soft sigh left her pink lips. “If only our greatest worry was talking Ravens.”  
Silence fell over them again as cigarettes burned slowly into butts. The pair smashing them on the ground beneath polished shoes. It was a surprise her mother didn’t come barrelling out after her, but Harald Finehair was a difficult man to get away from. Probably still ensnaring her in an uncomfortable conversation. He must have wanted something, the man rarely came to Kattegat. Even when her father was still around most of their conversations were over the phone.  
“What were you playing on doing after this?”  
She lifted her head from the crushed butt on the ground, curiosity in her eyes. “Nothing. Why?”  
A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Because I feel like getting the hell out of here. Fancy dinners with business partners isn’t really my thing.”  
She nodded. “Understandable.”  
He pulled a set of keys from his pant pocket and hung them in the air. “Ubbe and I drove separate incase shit got dry. You coming?”  
Anya froze. Assuming rightfully that he planned to take off on his own. Probably to Margrethe’s house or his own. Surely not with her. The two had spoken more this week then they had in years.  
“You don’t have to.” He added. “But I’d rather eat a burger or something instead of seafood.”  
The thought of food made her stomach curtle, but going somewhere else was more appealing than the thought of facing Harald and her mother again. It wasn’t as if she’d guess right away where Anya ran off too. Hvitserk Ragnarsson being the last person in town she was allowed to hang out with.  
With an exasperated sigh she nodded her head. “Okay.”  
Playfully he rolled his eyes. “Don’t look too excited.”  
“What are you talking about?” She retorted. “I can hardly contain myself right now.”  
Laughter filled the air in unison as he pulled away from the wall. He nodded toward the party lot and began to lead her toward a blue suv. Pressing a button on the keys the engine roared to life. Her emerald gaze fell once more on Blue Fish, but then she shook away her hesitation. What harm could it do?  
“Getting in?” Hvitserk called, his body already in the front seat adjust the mirror.  
She tore her gaze from the restaurant, her mother already forgotten inside. “Yeah.”  
Anya pulled on the door handle and entered the car, doing her best not to look as tense as she felt perched in the passenger seat. Hvitserk already visibly more relaxed as he plugged his phone into the USB cord. A soft beat filling the car as he pulled it into reverse. The Blue Fish growing smaller by the second.


	7. Dinner Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the delay. Life got in the way and it took me forever to get this update up. I'm not completely happy with how it turned out, but like I said I tried to get this up quickly after a long time away. There will not be as much of a delay before the next chapter since I already have it planned out. Thank you to everyone who left wonderful comments and kudos. Enjoy.

The last time she was at Sweet Burger it had been after finals. Her, Hanna, and Frida walking side by side down the street. Their backpacks filled with review material and summer on the horizon. Almost three weeks before she left for the summer. But that was before the ‘bad day’, as her psychologist liked to refer it as.   
Others from school were there as well, discussing their exams over burgers and shakes. Some of the seniors trying to use fake ids to snag beers from the new waitress hires. The three of them discussing the coming summer, and all that they planned to do. Freydis’ parents going to Malta for holiday for a month, and she’d have the house to herself. Which called for parties and countless nights spent raiding her liquor cabinet. The thought now only brought a twinge of sadness, knowing that Anya never experienced any of it. But that was her own doing in the end. No matter what she used to justify it. Had she been more ‘normal’, maybe her summer wouldn’t have been spent the way it was.   
Hvitserk’s voice penetrated through her daydream. “Do you know what do you want?”  
Shaking out of her daze, Anya found his light eyes on hers. The woman behind the counter staring impatiently at the pair. “Yeah.” She nodded. “A cheese burger with fries, and a chocolate shake.”  
“I’ll have the same, but with a strawberry one.” Hvitserk’s eyes falling back on the cashier.  
Anya couldn’t help but noticed the way the woman looked at him. Not much older, probably his half brother’s age. More than aware of who the boy was with his tie undone, and his dress shirt well wrinkled. Their town was small enough where everyone knew everyone. The only strangers being those who moved there. But they never stayed unfamiliar for long. The prerequisite for moving to Kattegat being that one had to unload all their dirty laundry within the first year. She was like him, born and raised in the small seaside town that held more demons than anything else. Everyone knew who she was--who he was. Though his family was much more well known. Practically staring down at everyone from their palace on the hill.   
“How much do I owe you.”  
He shook his head. “Nothing.”   
It felt wrong to let him pay for it.. “Are you sure?”  
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. It’s cheap.”   
Hvitserk pulled out bills to give the cashier, as their food came out. Her eyes still locked on him, a deer in headlights. As she handed him his change Anya grabbed the tray, starting for the row of booths that took up the small restaurant. The booths themselves a bright shade of candy apple red, with silver tables. It was almost blinding, but something she’d grown used to over the years.   
They were quiet once more, just as they had been more of the ride. Both suddenly gaining back their appetites. Something enticing about fast food when one was hungover. The grease a welcoming thing after a night of alcohol and regret. The burger tasted just as she remembered, her shake so thick it barely fit through the straw. She suddenly missed summer once more. Where you could sit outside while the sun beat down. The sound of the waves from the sea crashing only streets away. If only summer was tomorrow, instead of yesterday.  
“How is it?” He inquired, taking a break from his meal.  
It took a moment for her to respond, not wanting to let go of her thoughts from before. “Amazing as always.”  
A light chuckle escaped his lips. “Don’t let the owner of the Bluefish hear you say that.”  
“Heaven forbid.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “Why were you guys even there tonight?”  
He took a sip of his shake. “Harald Finehair and his brother Halfdan tried getting my mother to sell my father’s trading company.”  
Anya rose a crimson brow, ignoring the dread that pooled in her belly at the thought of Harald “Did she agree to it?”   
He shook his head. “Nah. She’d never sell it.”  
“Do you think she should?”  
He paused, their gazes locked. Obviously surprised by her bold questions. A girl who barely responded to anything, pressing him like a criminal. “No.”  
“Oh.”  
“He’ll keep trying though. When I walked out Halfdan already had her drunk. They think if they get her out of it she’ll agree. But she’s a lush, not stupid.”  
Harald didn’t carry the demeanor of a man who took no for an answer. Nothing but calculation behind those cold, cunning eyes. Anya nearly shook at the thought of them. Studying her like a labrat. Waiting patiently for her to lash out at him for all his invasive information. She couldn’t imagine trying to entertain him over a meal. There was nowhere to hide in a restaurant. Which is probably why their dinner was at the Bluefish in the first place. Corner the woman and her children until they gave in. Replace shady behavior with kindness. She certainly would have given in.   
“My father used to say he was a rat.” She announced. “That he only ever came sniffing around when something was ripe for the taking.”   
Hvitserk nodded. “I agree. My father never cared for him much either.”  
“I doubt he’d be around if your father--” She paused before the rest could slip out.  
But he finished it for her. “Was still alive?”   
She didn’t respond, her gaze falling into her lap. Suddenly guilty for speaking so freely. As if they picked up right where they left off, and years of awkward tension hadn’t been between them. Years ago such conversations would have easily been shared, but now only felt awkward, like she was speaking out of place.  
“It’s okay.” Hvitserk’s tone grew soft. “You’re just being honest.”   
“That doesn’t make it any easier.”   
She knew well enough. Her father may not have been dead--but it certainly felt that way. The way she was expected not to care of the whispers that surrounded their family. That her mother drove her father away like a whirlwind. Hardly a visit or a call since that day. In fits of rage her mother once blamed her, but Anya knew better now. She was merely a scapegoat for a marriage gone wrong. All it took was one stint in their perfect life for her father to run. It only took years for her to see what a coward he was for it. He was not Ragnar. Ragnar left men speechless, while Sigvard watched, brewing with envy.   
“There’s much about my father I never understood. It never felt like I knew him to begin with.” Hvitserk countered. “If anyone is sensitive to the whole thing it should be Bjorn or Ubbe. And then there’s Ivar. He doesn’t know how to handle anything,let alone grief.”  
Ivar was a puzzle she never had an intention of solving. Like a geyser he blew at random moments, the smallest detail setting him off. She knew their father was as commendable as her own, but that wouldn’t stop Ivar from clinging to the misery the way his metal braces clung to brittle legs. Since he joined group therapy she noticed the way the others sat higher in their seats. Their backs stiffening every time the youngest Ragarsson spoke. Every statement he spewed filled with enough triggers to set off all of them. After the first day she forced herself to block it out. No matter how quickly the memories came flooding back. Ivar got off on the discomfort of others. Anya wouldn’t give him the satisfaction once again.   
The only words that can escape her lips tumble out in a clumsy fashion. “He seems to enjoy therapy enough.”   
Hvitserk chuckled in response, strands of hair coming loose as his head shook. “Yeah well like I said, Ivar doesn’t know how to grieve. My mother only threw me in there because I was the only one that wouldn’t give her a hard time about it.”   
Anya took a sip of her shake. It took a fool not to notice the way his hands shook when he thought no one could see, or how he was quieter than the vibrant socialite she’d come to notice from afar years before. But they were no longer friends that shared one another’s strifes. So she wouldn’t push and prod the way others had done to her.   
“My mom forced me to go too.”   
He rose a light brow. “Really?”   
Though his voice didn’t betray him she knew well enough from her first episode that he wasn’t surprised. Both of them had demons crawling out of the shadows no matter how well they hid it.   
“Yeah...that daddy issues didn’t give it away?” She quipped.  
He shrugged. “Well we all have them, even me.”   
Silence piled over once more as they ate. Her thoughts threatening to conjure moments when they weren’t strangers. Tempted to think of where they would be had the past never occured. Perhaps they’d be two best friends, filling the void with laughter and inside jokes. She would tell him he needed a haircut, and that he was starting to look like his mother more every day. Even if it would leave a frown on his chapped lips. Would she have ever clung to Ragga, Freydis, Hanna and Fredia the way she had? Or would or only friends still be the three boys who lived at the top of the hill? With their youngest brother shouting every time they ran off into the woods and left him alone. It shouldn’t have stung, but somehow it still did.   
His voice was softened as it filled her ears. “It’s weird, seeing you all the time now. It felt like years went by and we never gave each other a second glance.”  
It wasn’t as if they had a choice. “Well,” She began, “Life works in strange ways. I’ve learned not to question it anymore.”   
He nodded, lips parted to speak until the sound of his phone overpowered their conversation. She was suddenly grateful to leave her phone back at the table with her mother and Harald. No doubt it would have blown up by now.   
Hvitserk frowned as he started at the screen, blue eyes throwing an apologetic gaze her way before swiping the screen. “Yeah?”  
A muffled voice filled the other end. Though difficult to hear, she could make out a voice that was higher than Ubbe’s but didn’t have the same tension of Ivar. Possibly Sigurd. Angry that his brother left him with two hungry wolves looking to hunt. At least the one wolf had occupied himself momentarily, but Anya couldn’t imagine Harald wasting much time on her mother. If only to get a rise out of her and return to mightier conquests.   
“No shit I left. Where are you?”  
Anya pretended to be busy when the remaining fries on her plate while Hvitserk rolled his eyes at his current conversation. She hardly remembered a time where Sigurd wasn’t aggressive. Her father once said he could pick a fight with a bear and think he would win.   
Hvitserk’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip before he spoke. “I got sweet burger. I couldn’t stomach the steak with Halfdan looking like he wanted to turn me into one.” He chuckled. “No I’m not bringing you any, I already ate it all.”   
They went back and forth continuously until all the fries were gone from her plate, and her shake was a melted mess at the bottom of the glass. She lifted the tray and rose from the booth, causing a pause from Hvitserk. I’m throwing it out. She mouthed, receiving a nod from him.   
Upon her return she noticed his phone was now on the table beside him. Green eyes staring out the window pane toward the harbor beyond. It wouldn’t be long until it was covered in ice. No longer beautiful, just a deadly mess.   
“Who was that?” She stood at the edge of the booth.  
He jumped from his trance, mind miles away. “Oh, it was Sigurd. He’s mad I ditched without him.”   
“I would have been too, to be honest.”  
“Glad to know you’re on my side.”   
That caused light laughter to escape her lips, and Anya could have sworn his eyes brightened. If only a trick of the sun.   
Hvitserk rose from the booth. “But unfortunately, I have to go back and get him at the restaurant or I’ll never hear the end of it.”   
She nodded. “I figured by how you two were talking he wasn’t going to just let you ditch.”  
“Well, I can give you a lift back too. I imagine your mom is probably looking for you if she’s anything like I remember.”   
“Oh yeah.” Anya’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. “She probably called the police already.”  
“Then we better get back before I’m charged with kidnapping.” A small smirk tugged against his lips. “We both know how much she loves me.”   
* * * * * * * * * * *   
The ride back to the Blue Fish went by faster than she would have liked. Images of her mother in a frantic fit while her daughter ran off with ghosts of the past. Anya figure she would be grounded at the very least. Her mother no longer trusted the girl alone for more than twenty minutes without growing frantic. It had been some form of a miracle that she hadn’t chased after her.   
Then there was dinner. A bubble protecting the pair from the outside world as they spoke of everything, and yet nothing at the same time. There was little confidence that she would have a moment with him once more. Even if she was subjected to him every day during free period. Ivar would be there, with his smug grin and cruel intentions. And she would return to her sketchbook, mind focused more on bleeding lilies rather than the pair just a few seats away. Would he try to speak to her tomorrow, or would he stare straight ahead as always? Would they return to the strangers torn apart during childhood? Perhaps. But she welcomed the reprieve from the reality, even if it was only for an hour.   
The restaurant fell into view as Hvitserk turned left into the parking lot. Anya immediately noticed Sigurd--his unruly golden curls at his shoulders. Suit jacket off and hanging over his shoulder. While the violet dress shirt he wore had the sleeves rolled, and most of it remained untucked. An expression that reminded Anya of an angry dog. His jaw clenched, and a lit cigarette against his lips. The look of every movie love interest she and Ragga watched in middle school.   
The suv pulled alongside the curb, Sigurd’s eyes lighting up at the sight of his brother as Hvitserk rolled the window down. “Took you long enough.” He chided.  
Hvitserk gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re lucky I came back at all.”   
“I’m lucky? You’re lucky Ubbe and I don’t kick your ass for leaving us with the terrible two. Mother’s drunk enough that she can’t remember which of us is who. She called me Hvitserk for the past hour.”   
Anya fought the urge to laugh as Hvitserk scoffed. “Did you expect anything less?”   
“Whatever. Just get me out of here before Ubbe notices I ditched too.”  
“Fine, get in the back.”   
Confusion filled Sigurd’s features at the other’s request. Until his gaze noticed her tresses of fire in the seat beside Hvitserk. A sly smirk suddenly appearing, like a fox with prey. Anya felt her anxiety coil around her throat.   
“And who is this?” Sigurd cooed.   
Hvitserk leaned back in the seat, giving his brother full view of her. Anya as if on instinct let her head fall. Though not quick enough, for she couldn’t miss the way Sigurd rose a golden brow at the pair.   
“I thought you were forbidden from talking to us.” Sigurd’s accusation causing her cheeks to flare with heat. “I don’t blame you, my mom almost got me killed a few times too.”   
“Shut up.” Hvitserk snapped.   
“It’s fine.” She murmured.   
She felt his gaze on her once more, the emerald hue of his eyes more friendly than that of his little brother. More of a puppy than a fox.   
“You can come back with us if you want.”   
The offer was tempting. More so than the idea of facing her mother’s wrath. But what more did they have to discuss? Their run ins either coincidence or fate deciding to entertain itself. Surely her situation would only worsen the moment her mother learned she not only ran off with Hvitserk, but Anya returned to the house that she so desperately tried to keep her from. She wondered if there was still a hinge missing on Ivar’s door. Or if the pygmy goats Ragar insisted on raising were still grazing in their little pasture behind the shed. Aslaug always claiming they were an eye sore for the backyard.   
“I would. But I’m already dead meat.”  
He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I thought I was avoiding getting arrested.”  
“Well you’re free now.” She announced, reaching for the handle of the door.   
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”   
She paused, hand frozen on the handle. He only meant group therapy, she thought. Even if they didn’t speak to one another, they would still cross paths.   
“See you.”   
Anya hopped out of the suv, just making out Hvitserk’s voice as he told Sigurd to go to the front instead. She just caught a glimpse of Sigurd’s mischievous grin as they crossed paths. The sound of the engine filled her ears as it pulled away. Though she didn’t look back to watch. Thoughts already drifting to Sigurd and all he would say to his brother about her. Maybe it was a blessing. Better to hear rumors of her rather than Margrethe. She could only imagine the chaos that would ensue if others learned it all to be true.   
“Anya!”   
Dread suddenly filled her, as Anya turned toward the voice she now dreaded. Her mother approaching from the entrance. Her hair a read whirlwind as it blew in the evening breeze. Though the look on her face was more relief than anger.   
“Where have you been?” Her mother grabbed onto her daughter’s arms as she approached. Eyes frantically searching Anya’s face.  
She tugged against her mother’s grip. “I’m sorry, I just ran out here for air.” The lie escaping her lips like smooth honey.  
Relief filled the woman’s expression. “I would have looked for you sooner but that snake--I just couldn’t get away.”  
It seemed fate was on her side. Enough so that her absence wasn’t the burden she imagined it would be. Though her mother appeared more relieved than angry. As if her daughter would be snatched up by the brother’s that reminded her more of vipers than men at a first glance. She expected a lecture, a firm scolding about how foolish she was. To be grounded for running off with Hvitserk Ragarsson. But none of it came.   
“It’s alright mom.” Anya’s voice more sheepish than she would have liked. “Can we just go home?”  
“Are you sure. Don’t you want to eat.”  
She shook her head. “No. I suddenly lost my appetite.”  
The elder redhead nodded in understanding. It was tempting not to question whether or not if the woman that stood before Anya was her mother at all. Not once did her voice raise. Despite her daughter’s actions. Maybe she worried more than Anya once assumed. She not only one consumed by mistakes of the past.  
“We’ll go home then.”  
They walked to the car in silence, and hardly said a word to one another on the way home. Her mother’s knuckles white as snow as they gripped the wheel. Anya’s gaze remained out the window until her curiosity could no longer be sated.  
“What happened?”  
Silence filled them for what felt like hours before she responded. “Nothing.”  
“Doesn’t seem like it.”  
The other woman huffed. “Anya I need you to promise me something.”  
The redhead lifted her gaze toward the other. “Yeah?”  
“If you run into that man again, you’ll get away from him as quickly as you can.”   
Anya didn’t respond. Thoughts of dread consuming her like wildfire. It was rare to see her mother in such a state. Caught off guard, gaze filled with fear. Like a doe catching sight of the hunter. Wasting precious seconds staring rather than running.   
“Anya, promise me.” The woman pressed.  
“Mom, I promise.”   
If only she knew how quickly that promise would be broken. Then Anya would have known that it was a waste to swear to such a thing.


	8. Rumors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've begun writing ahead to get updates up more quickly. Thank you once more for all the positive responses. Enjoy.

He promised himself he’d speak to her. But there was great difficulty in conjuring the courage to talk to her when others were around. Monday she sat in her usual seat, head buried in a sketchbook of drawings he only caught brief glimpses of. Mostly flowers or trees. One time he swore he saw one painted in blood. But he couldn’t bring himself to say hello, let alone ask why she drew an oak with streaks of blood across the trunk. Only once did he catch the familiar gaze of her emerald eyes. But they fell back into the book as quickly as they rose. 

Tuesday he and Ivar arrived before she did. Part of him wondered if she planned to skip, as she flew into the room like a hurricane moments before the warning bell. Her hair a plume of wildfire as she pulled a strand behind her freckled ear. The words were hanging on his tongue, though they refused to break free. Perhaps it was Ivar, who took it in his interest to watch his brother if only to see him squirm during the personal therapy sessions. Maybe curious as to why he watched her come into the room two days in a row. Their time during the dinner Bluefish--commendable to Sigurd’s self control was still a secret. Though it wasn’t as if either did anything wrong. Just old friends catching up, or rather reflecting on the past. 

He thought to say hello on the way out, when Ivar would be too focused on adjusting his limbs to notice the pair speak to one another. Only fate had other plans, since it was the first time Anya had been called on since school began. Her cheeks suddenly crimson as several eyes fell on her. Hvitserk knew they weren’t that different from one another. Closed books that preferred to stay that way. Her knuckles grew stark white as hands clenched into fists, and it was impossible not to notice the way she slouched lower into her seat. 

“Is there any progress at all that you’d like to share, Anya?” Mrs.Vilgerð pressed. Ever eager to coax her most introverted students out of their shells.

Anya shook her head in response, which caused light laughter to escape the counselor’s lips. 

“Nothing at all? Not an A on a quiz, or a part time job?” 

If he hadn’t been looking at her, Hvitserk would have easily missed it. In a blink he could see the venom in her eyes. How Anya looked to Mrs.Vilgerð as if she were the devil incarnate. The fire that remained within her despite her sulken appearance. 

Silence fell in the classroom, as Hvitserk realized Mrs.Vilgerð must have noticed the look of fury in Anya’s gaze as well. Normally the woman poked and prodded until the student grew tired and admitted their story. But Anya was more stubborn than the others. A brick wall that refused to tumble when the wind came blowing. 

Mrs.Vilgerð let out a sigh. “Well then, does anyone else have anything they’d like to share?”  

Another hand flew up, a freshman student who seemed to relish in the attention given to him. His tale of how he had slowly weaned off depression medication quickly became the focus, rather than the girl who still looked ahead as if Mrs.Vilgerð had asked for her first born. 

_ What are you hiding?  _ He thought.  _ What lights the fire in your eyes? _

And as quickly as therapy had begun, the bell rang once more signaling the movement to the next class. Hvitserk’s gaze on Anya as she grabbed her things and began to storm from the room. Only to be stopped dead by Mrs.Vilgerð.

“Anya,stay back a minute won’t you?”

So much for saying hello. He doubted she would be in a brighter mood once the pair spoke. Leaving him convinced that there was nothing more for them to discuss. One dinner didn’t mend years apart. Both had grown into people he no longer recognized. And it wasn’t as if she needed any new friends. 

“You coming, or are you gonna check out Mrs.Vilgerð until the bell rings?” Ivar quipped.

Hvitserk shot his brother a scowl. “Piss off.”

“Only if you find me a pair of working legs to walk away on.” 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“I don’t get why Den is starting in net over me. I saved twice the amount of goals that he did.” Sigurd groaned. 

A smirk tugged against Ubbe’s lips as he gripped his younger brother by the shoulder. “Because he’s in my year, and the eldest get priority.” 

Sigurd shoved him off. “Well they shouldn’t when they’re piss poor at making a save.”

“Your panties are just in a twist because you’re getting benched for tomorrow's game.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The blonde countered. “I didn’t agree to move up to varsity just to watch everyone else play.” 

“You’ll have your time. Hvitserk didn’t start most of his sophomore season. Right, brother?”

Both gazes fell on him. Hvitserk’s mind miles away. With little concern over the game tomorrow night. “You’re right.” He replied, to appease Ubbe anyway.

A smirk fills his brother’s face. “See?”

Sigurd scoffed. “He’s not even listening right now. If you told him there was lava on the ground he’d agree.”

Ubbe’s only response was a chuckle as the three of them trekked through the parking lot. The strap of Hvitserk’s bag dug into his shoulder, his mouth dry and knees sore after what felt like endless drills. If he could he’d trade places with Sigurd. If only to do anything but spend his Wednesday night at school for a few extra hours. 

Sigurd and Ubbe continued to bicker ahead of him, and he envied them for it. The way they could easily forget the wolves on their door steps the past weekend. If he was called on in group therapy he thought to say he had gone five days without hurting his brother. Not that Ubbe was aware of it. Margrethe nothing lately but a string of unanswered texts he’d have to answer eventually. At a time when there wasn’t people trying to con his mother, and ghosts of the past everywhere he turned. 

When their SUV came into view Hvitserk noticed the familiar long legs and blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. From what he could remember of her visiting in the summer--she had a car. But he wouldn’t question why Ubbe insisted picking her up and bringing her home the past two days. 

Except Sigurd was not as compliant. “We’re taking her home again?”

Ubbe shot him a cold stare, his voice low as they entered ear shot. “Her car broke down, and I wanted to drive her anyways. She’s coming back to the house.”

“Of course she is.”

Ubbe shoved Sigurd with his elbow, causing his bag to crash to the ground and a snicker from Hvitserk. 

“When are you gonna learn you’ve lost your right to shotgun?” Hvitserk teased as he kicked the bag forward. 

A growl escaped Sigurd’s lips as the two brushed past him. Hvitserk’s hand tugging on the door handle as Ubbe’s grip found Ragga’s waist. He pulled himself into the vehicle as the pair brushed lips against one another. Their whispers almost inaudible within the back seat. 

Years of watching Ubbe do the same with Margrethe numbed him to the entire thing. Watching any of his brothers tangled in a girl had become second nature. He was the only one who didn’t do it. More private, every girl he ever bothered with sharing a kiss behind closed doors. He never pulled them close enough to keep. Too much trust went into dating, even at sixteen. The thought of opening up to another was as appealing as throwing up after a night out. How Ubbe managed to rebound as fast as he did was beyond him. But not everyone preferred to forget the lips they kissed the morning after.

Sigurd cuts his train of thought as he threw his bag into the back seat. The fabric brushing Hvitserk enough that he kicked it back in the direction of his brother. 

“Move over.” The blonde hissed. 

Hvitserk rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, princess.”

He shifted to the left as Sigurd climbed in beside him. Chiming into the conversation Ragga and Ubbe were having in the front seat. Hvitserk imagined, much to their displeasure. His ocean eyes falling on the window, watching as they pulled away and the school building began to fade from view. 

“I wish you could have taken me to the Blue Fish.” Ragga’s voice reminded him of a child whining. “I’ve never been.”

Ubbe raised a brow. “You didn’t miss much. It’s overrated.”

“It is.” Sigurd interjected. “Hvitserk and I ditched before it even ended.”

Light laughter escaped Ragga’s lips. “Why?”

“Because it was about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

“Hvitserk ditched before the food was even served.” Ubbe replied. The bitterness evident in his tone that Hvitserk left him alone with their guests, Ivar, and Aslaug. Better him than Sigurd. Who would have no doubt left his brother and mother in the parking lot to fend for themselves. 

“That’s because he was getting sweet at Sweet Burger with Anya.” Sigurd teased. 

Hvitserk tore his gaze from the window, nothing but fire in his eyes. He dug his elbow into the other’s side causing a howl from Sigurd who shoved him in return. 

“What? You were, I saw her in the car.” 

Both Ragga and Ubbe looked back at him. A stoplight taking the opportune time to turn red. Ubbe’s expression was more disbelief, confusion. Why his brother was with Anya, or the fact that Anya had become a topic of conversation several times since school began once more. After years went by without her name leaving Hvitserk’s lips. Ragga’s expression though was quite the opposite. Mischief in her eyes. A friend that noticed an opportunity, or she was merely satisfied to have caught her friend in some kind of lie. It made him wonder if she ever mentioned him as he had a habit lately of mentioning her. 

“I’m glad these two seem to agree with me.” Sigurd added. 

A frown plagued Hvitserk’s lips as Ubbe spoke. “Is it what Sigurd thinks it is?” 

Hvitserk shook his head. “No, I told you.” The impatience became evident in his tone. “I went and had a smoke the same time she did. Then neither of us were feeling the Blue Fish and decided to go catch up somewhere. Nothing happened.”

“I’m sure you did lots of catching up.” Sigurd snickered, causing his brother to elbow his side. 

The signal in front of them changed to green, and so did Ubbe’s attention as it fell back onto the road. Though Hvitserk couldn’t miss the glance he and Ragga exchanged with one another. A gaze that he often shared with Ubbe when Ivar or Sigurd were lying about something. It only left the boy’s blood boiling--knowing well enough Ragga would say something to Anya if she hadn’t planned to already. 

The rest of the ride back to the house was filled with silence. Hvitserk suddenly felt the weight of his lack of sleep paired with the strain of a two and half hour practice. A dull ache throbbed in his knees, and he longed to sleep. Except the chemistry homework in his backpack carried a weight that he couldn’t forget. Aslaug was finicky about certain things. One mainly being school work. There were some things she never noticed. Like the fact that Hvitserk had girls sleeping over when he was only fourteen. And Sigurd’s room always had the stench of a skunk that wasn’t a skunk at all, but the pipe hidden under his bed. But if there was a hair out of place, a failing grade, or mention of their father’s first wife the world fell into a frenzy.

He envied Ubbe. Within the year his brother would be off at university. Without the worry of their mother who always had one too many glasses of wine, or their baby brother who had enough pent up anger for all of them. Hvitserk wondered if it would be Aslaug asking him to look at Ivar’s eyes. “How blue are they today, Hvitserk?” 

When Ubbe pulled into the garage beside the line of cars their family owned, he immediately opened the door and left. Sigurd mimicking him in a similar fashion as he left the door open for Hvitserk. Grabbing both his sports bag and backpack, he felt a soft hand against his shoulder. 

“Hey look, I don’t know what they’re talking about. But I won’t say anything to Anya.” 

His gaze fell on Ragga’s, a smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks Ragga.”

She nodded. “But if you’re ever interested, I can give you her number. I honestly think it would be good for her to talk to--”

“Again, thanks Ragga.” Crimson painted his cheeks. “But I’m kind of talking to someone else right now.” 

Before she could say more he pulled himself out of the car and walked into the house. His face felt as if it was on fire, insides churning like butter. It was evident none of them believed him. Let them. He didn’t owe them any explanation. 

“Why do you bring that girl here? I don’t like you screwing her in my house.” 

His mother’s words were horribly slurred when he entered the house. If he inhaled deeply enough Hvitserk may have been able to smell the red wine from the mud room. 

“It’s our father’s house.” Ubbe retorted. 

His mother’s tone rose. “Oh, and who do you think it belongs to now?” 

Behind him the door opened, and Ragga filed in behind him. Painfully ignorant to what she had just walked into. Though Hvitserk didn’t have it in him to warn her. Not after enduring one of the more uncomfortable car rides of his life. 

“You didn’t care when it was Margrethe.”

“She was a nuisance too.” 

Ragga kicked off her sneakers and tiptoed around him. Hvitserk could see the caution in her eyes. Like a doe being circled by a predator. He wondered why she didn’t just rush by like whirlwind and make a run for the stairs. His mother evidently drunk enough not to notice. He followed closely behind as they appeared in the kitchen. His mother sitting at the island with a glass of wine in hand. Her hair disheveled and an empty bottle beside the glass. 

Her voice left a ringing in his ear as she spoke. “Just go upstairs. If you’re going to disrespect my wishes then do it where I can’t see you.” 

“You’re not making any sense.” Ubbe sneered. “Have another glass.”

His mother’s face grew as red as the wine in her glass. “Go upstairs! Both of you.” 

Ragga, like a spooked horse grabbed onto his brother’s arm. Nearly dragging Ubbe toward the staircase as Aslaug silently seethed. Once more she brought the goblet to her lips, and a few seconds passed before she brought it back down. 

“You should have kicked her out mother, they do not respect you.” Ivar piped up from the kitchen table. Hvitserk hadn’t noticed he was there. Sitting awkwardly as the braces tugged against his legs. 

Sigurd rolled his eyes “She’ll forget it by morning.”  

Ivar’s gaze was lethal as it fell on his elder brother. The tension rising in the room thick enough to slice with a knife. Though Hvitserk attempted to ignore it. Pulling up a chair beside his mother on the island, he reached into his back and pulled out his chemistry book. Sigurd didn’t appear to take note of Ivar’s stare as his fox like smirk fell on Aslaug. Her body swaying to a silent beat provided by the alcohol. 

“Quit looking at her like that.” The youngest snapped.

A chuckle left Sigurd’s lips. “Why not? I’m enjoying the show. I give it five minutes before she sways out of that stool.” 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Ivar sneered. “Leave her alone.”

Aslaug hiccuped loud enough to make Hvitserk jump in his seat. “Boys, stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Sigurd rolled his eyes. “What even made you drink this early?”

It’s never too early to start drinking. Hvitserk thought. His eyes glued to the textbook.

“Men, my sweet boys. Men make me drink.”

This prompted even Hvitserk to look up at his mother. Not quite understanding the context of her statement. 

Ivar seemed to take note of the other’s confusion. “The offer from Harald.”

Sigurd raised a brow. “What about it?” 

Aslaug narrowed thin eyebrows at her son. “Everything about it.” 

“Maybe if you and Hvitserk didn’t ditch,” Ivar began. “You would know how difficult of a choice it is for our mother.” 

Hvitserk let out a sigh and shook his head. 

Aslaugh seemed to notice her son for the first time since he arrived. Turning her body toward him, her gaze reminded him of a fox. Narrowed and calculating. As if his lack of interest was enough to set her off.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say, Hvitserk?” 

Hvitserk simply stared back into eyes that resembled his own. It amazed him how alike they looked. His brothers all resembling their father more so than their mother. Except him. From the narrow face to the slim build. He was his mother’s son. Even if she always favored Ivar to him. 

Irritation crossed her features. He assumed she expected some form of a response. As her other two sons surely would have entertained her with such a thing. But he was never one to argue. Having a preference to watch the show rather than take part in it. 

“Hvitserk.” The scent of wine fresh on her breath. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

After what felt like an hour he finally answered. “No.”

A groan fell from Ivar at the table. “Of course he doesn’t.”

“Why would I?” The Hvitserk challenged. “It belongs to Ubbe, not me. I could care less what any of you do with it.” 

“He’s right you know.” Sigurd interjected. “The three of us aren’t really affected by any of this. We’d still have money Ivar. It’s not like Harald wouldn’t pay mother.”

“I don’t think I’m going to sell it to him.” Aslaug sighed. “He doesn’t deserve all my hard work.”

Sigurd raised a brow as Aslaug began to clumsily grab onto the open bottle. Hvitserk grabbed it, pulling it away with little effort. His mother’s fingers shaking as she tried to maintain her pathetic grip on the bottle. 

Ivar cleared his throat. “You’d care if we weren’t rich anymore because Harald took it.” 

“Ivar.” Aslaug groaned, leaning much of her weight into Hvitserk.

Hvitserk bit down on his lower lip. “Not really. I don’t care much about anything.” 

His statement silenced the room. A silent confirmation of everything that occured over the summer. The constant drinking, the way Hvitserk would go into his room and not come out until Ubbe nearly knocked the door down. Though Aslaug often claimed it was just Hvitserk being a rebellious teen, there was an awkward tension between mother in son. It was evident her son hadn’t been his usual self in months. Normally carefree and laid back compared to the youngest pair. Who often collided fists more than anything else. 

Ivar broke the silence. “I think mother was trying to make you feel better. It seems you’re the one who needed group therapy more than I did. Are you going to steal another bottle of father’s whisky tonight, or have you already gone through them all?”

White heat coursed through him. It was rare for Hvitserk to feel anger toward much of anything. His patience level malleable after years of exposure to his brothers. But Ivar always knew where to dig the knife and twist it into his flesh. Maybe he would steal another bottle, jsut to spite his baby brother. 

He gripped his textbook hard enough to snap it half, and yanked his backpack from it’s position on the floor. He didn’t look back to see if his mother had lost her balance as he rose and tore from the kitchen. Sigurd’s voice filled the air, scolding Ivar for being an ass once again. Aslaug interjected as well, her voice more of a mix of slurred sentences rather than much else. His anger carried him up the stairs, nothing but red filling his vision. 

There wasn’t much he had to care for anymore. It wasn’t as if he was lying. Ivar had a habit of projecting his pain since childhood. Using his brothers and anyone else naive enough as a punching bag. That reminder was the only thing keeping him from storming back down the staircase and striking him from the chair he sat in. 

_ It’s just Hvitserk he’ll get over it. Hvitserk is always there. Hvitserk doesn’t care about anything.  _

Maybe he didn’t. Not anymore. 

The door slammed as Hvitserk entered his room. Tossing his bag to the ground with a grunt, he plopped into the desk chair. Head buried in his hands as the desire to drink became overwhelming. Anything to forget Ivar’s smug grin, or the way his mother acted like a lush. To forget the image of Ragnar’s body in the casket months before. A mischievous look on his face, even in death. 

A sigh escaped the boy’s lips as he lifted his head. He reached down and grabbed the textbook from the floor. Once he finished his homework he would drink. The only motivation to get the formulas memorized. 

As he set the book down a small piece of paper flopped up on the desk. Small enough that if he hadn’t caught the hand writing on it, he would have just let it fall to the floor. A different kind of heat filled him as he read the neat penmanship.

_ Hvitserk, _

_    I know you said it’s nothing. But in case you ever want something here’s her number.  _

_ Ps: I won’t tell Anya a thing  _

_ \--Ragga.  _

He stared at the sequence of numbers until his eyes hurt. Trying to conjure any and every excuse not to pull out his phone and dial it. Why he thought she would understand alcoholic mothers, business deals, and cady brothers was beyond him, But he would not bother her yet. Maybe when he was filled to the brim with alcohol and forget the hesitation that kept him from approaching up to her everyday.

With a sigh of defeat he pulled the phone from his pocket, and saved her number. 


	9. Alterior Motives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps around a bit. But I promise it'll pay off later on. Anya will be more prevalent in the next few chapters.

The next morning he was surprised to hear the soft murmur of Aslaug’s voice. Though it was barely audible as he passed her room. Within the small crack of the door frame he could make out his mother’s willowy figure as she sat at the edge of her mattress, the covers strewn in every random direction. Another body flutters through the room, though it was too feminine to belong to one of his brother’s. 

“Your schedule is rather free today.” The young woman’s voice filled the air. “You just have a meeting at one with the Danish, and then an appointment with Dr. Skaldi at four.” 

His mother groaned in return. The wild curls like a cone surrounding her buried face. He knew all too well the massive migraine that accompanied a hangover. Sometimes he hesitated to drink as much in order to avoid it--sometimes. 

“What time is it now?” His mother murmurs. 

The woman looks down at her thin wrist. “Seven thirty.”

She’s severe looking. Her blonde tresses pulled back into a tight ponytail. The mint green of her suit faded enough that it’s tasteful rather than boisterous. Hvitserk cannot remember her name. But he’s witnessed her presence within the house before. One of the many assistants that his mother has. Only this one appears more organized than the university girls hoping to make extra money and gain a letter of recommendation from Aslaug.

“I need to drive Ivar to school.”

The woman raises a light brow. “Your sons cannot do it?”

She shakes her head. “They do not drive the accessibility car to school.”

The assistant doesn’t appear impressed, and anger courses through Hvitserk. She must think they’re selfish. Not to drive their baby brother to school everyday and force him to endure their mother. But he knew Aslaug relished it. Any time spent with her baby was worth more than twice the time with the others. 

“Hey, you coming?” 

Hvitserk turned his head to see Sigurd coming from his bedroom. His blonde locks pulled back in an identical bun to his elder brother’s. Though there were dark circles underneath his eyes, and his shirt was disheveled. 

He nodded. “Yeah, I was just checking in on mother.” 

Sigurd scoffed. “She’s probably still drunk. Tell Ivar to have fun with that today.” 

“Maybe we should take him then.” The suggestion already felt forced.

His brother raised a brow. “You want to carry his ass into the car? Be my guest. I’ll pass.” 

It seemed Ivar would be stuck with Aslaug afterall. 

* * * * * * * * *

The ride to school was silent, but Hvitserk didn’t complain. His thoughts were more consumed with the new number in his phone. Would Anya be angry if she learned of Ragga’s suggestion. Would she tell Hvitserk to piss off just as her mother did years prior? Perhaps their dinner was just her way of being civil. A proverbial olive branch to end the years of confusion and tension. Since then she did not look at him in therapy, or glance in his direction for more than a cluster of seconds. 

It was foolish to fathom that anything else would happen. Anya lived her life and he lived his. Their paths diverged years prior, and minor coincidence couldn’t change what already occured. Any sane person would have left her alone. Ignored the urge to ask her to join him for dinner that night at the Bluefish and continue on with his night. But he wasn’t sane, not by a longshot. 

Then there was Margrethe. He managed to avoid her most days since the party incident. More out of fear that others would fuel the rumors that slowly died down. Ubbe had only asked him once about it, and when his brother denied it then the eldest had no reason to question what others had to say. No matter how convincing it may have been. 

But while his thoughts swirled with whether or not he should delete the new number in his phone, Margrethe found herself at his locker just before first period. Her eyes wide with either anxiety or doubt. 

“Hvitserk.” She whispered. 

He didn’t look up, and shoved a chemistry book into his locker. “Margrethe.”

An awkward silence falls between them. He glanced up briefly to see her teeth chewing on her lower lip. She leaned her small frame against the wall of lockers, her gaze not leaving Hvitserk once. He could hear the whispers already as students walked by. Their stares a hefty reminder that nothing went unnoticed in their school.

“I just--I wanted to tell you something.”

That time his gaze fell on her. “Yeah?”

A heavy sigh left her pink lips. “I’m sorry about the party. I was drunk, and it was stupid to freak out on you like that. I guess I just got jealous.” 

“Why would you be jealous?”

“Because it seems that clique gets everything they want. And I just thought that you and Anya--I don’t know. I guess I was scared you found someone else that night.” 

Despite the soft smile on his lips, Hvitserk did not feel comforted by her words. He was unsure how to say any of it. How was he supposed to explain what she meant to him without plunging the knife further into the open wound in her heart. It was no secret that she came to him in an effort to forget his brother. Something he once welcomed. But now it grew complicated, a twisted vine that threatened to choke the life from him. Just as Ubbe would if he ever learned what his little brother had done. 

“Margrethe it’s fine, honestly.” Hvitserk began. “I’ve just been busy.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Though he could tell from the furrow in her brow she believed little he said anymore. “Too busy to text me?”

A soft sigh escapes his lips. “Yes.”

He didn’t want to hurt her more, yet it appeared inevitable. Every question leading to another, until he did just what he hoped to avoid. 

The lie fell between his lips easier than he anticipated. “I can call you tonight.” 

But there’s the relief that sparked between her eyes that kept him from taking it back. Another false hope that he planted inside of her. Perhaps he was that selfish that though he didn’t wish to lead her on, he still didn’t want to let her go. 

“I’d like that.” She responds with a toothy grin.

“Like what?”

The fear in Margrethe’s gaze is enough for Hvitserk to know who it is. Accompanied with the squeal of the wheelchair he can already imagine the cogs working through Ivar’s brain. Hvitserk and Margrethe whispering at his locker. He would use it against Hvitserk. Perhaps at dinner with their mother or when he was alone with Ubbe. The youngest thought differently than the others. Anything could be a lie. He told enough to protect himself. Why would his elder brothers be any different?

Hvitserk turned toward his brother. “Ivar, what do you want?” 

“I have to talk to my big brother.” The youngest replied. “Am I not allowed to talk to you in school now too? Sigurd is bad enough. He thinks the wheelchair is too embarrassing.”

Ivar began to cackle but neither Hvitserk or Margrethe joined with him. The worry was evident in her light eyes, that didn’t leave Hvitserk once. Margrethe never enjoyed Ivar’s company. Hvitserk assumed he had teased her the way he often teased anyone who came around. 

A sigh left Hvitserk’s lips. “No, you can talk to me. I just don’t know why you want to now.” 

“It’s important. More important than...whatever this is.” The youngest waved a finger between Hvitserk and Margrethe. 

Margrethe shook her head. “I-I think I should go.” 

“Yes you should.” 

“Ivar.” Hvitserk seethed. 

Margrethe swept past the pair into the crowd of students. Rouge filled her cheeks as her gaze remained glued to the floor. Hvitserk forced himself not to say anything to her as she disappeared. There were only a few more minutes before the bell to first period. A few very slow minutes before Ivar was forced to go to class and leave him be. 

“So,” His little brother began. “The rumors are true?”

Hvitserk scoffed. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Ivar rolled his eyes in response but said nothing more. His mind was focused more important matters. 

“Have you heard from Bjorn lately?” 

“No. Why?”

Ivar ran a hand through his dark tresses. “Because I heard Ubbe talking to him this morning before you guys left, and I’m worried.” 

Hvitserk sighed. “And why would you be worried about Ubbe talking to our other brother?” 

An incredulous look filled Ivar’s face. “You can’t be serious?”

Hvitserk only shrugged in response. 

“Because our eldest brother hasn’t said much of anything since our father’s death, and now as soon as Harald has interest in our father’s business, he’s contacting Ubbe and god only knows who else.”

Hvitserk couldn’t hold back the laughter that consumed him. “Ivar even if that’s why he called Ubbe, you shouldn’t care.”

“But he’s spying for  _ her _ .” The youngest insisted. “Can’t you see? She’s going to do something stupid if she thinks mother is going to sell.” 

“Lagertha can’t do anything Ivar, it belongs to Ubbe, or Bjorn, or whoever the hell wants it when the time comes.” 

A pregnant pause fell between them. Ivar’s fists clenched onto the handles of his wheelchair and Hvitserk could feel the tension radiating between them. Lagertha wasn’t silent about her disdain for their mother, but it wasn’t as if she came around much unless it was deemed necessary. He liked to think she wouldn’t do anything rash. But nothing surprised him anymore. Even if she did, it likely wouldn’t affect him. He wasn’t the heir. 

“Ivar,” A sigh left the elder brother’s lips. “You’re fourteen. Mother isn’t going anywhere and I doubt she’ll sell to Harald. Ubbe will probably take over then. Just stop worrying over pointless things.” 

“Ubbe is a coward.” Ivar pressed. “He wants nothing to do with all of this and you know it. He’ll let Bjorn have it and it’ll go right to Lagertha.” 

Hvitserk could feel his thread of patience wearing thin. “And what would you do about it, hm?”

“I’d do anything to protect what belongs to us, brother.” Ivar hissed. “Unlike you I don’t sit around and sulk while everyone else is getting shit done.”

“Go away, Ivar.”

The youngest just laughs. A victory knowing that he aggravated Hvitserk. He wanted to rile the elder brother up. Get under his skin and push his own agenda. 

“Are you going to go cry to Margrethe now?” Ivar pressed. “Or maybe you should do it in therapy. The girls love a sensitive prick.” 

Hvitserk slammed his locker shut. “I said go the fuck away Ivar!” 

This time he listened. If only to force his brother to endure the stares of passing students alone in a shameful embarrassment. A snicker left Ivar’s lips as he wheeled away from Hvitserk. The bell screamed in his ears warning that he’d be late for first period if he didn’t start walking. His gaze fell on the doors that led to one of the parking lots. Would anyone even noticed if he ditched? They didn’t last time. All it took was a forged letter from Aslaug to excuse his absence. There wasn’t much else motivating him to stay. To endure another day of lectures and quizzes. Then to endure Ivar’s shitfaced grin during group therapy. 

Just as he heads toward the door a voice fills his ear. “Mr. Ragnarsson.” 

One of the many hall monitors. Another nameless adult that gained some form of fun by patronizing students for being tardy or attempting to skip. This one was no different, with a wicked grin on his lips. A cat who caught the mouse. 

Hvitserk’s gaze fell on the man. “Yes sir?”

“We’re not having a repeat of a few weeks ago are we?” The monitor questioned. “Because you might find yourself in detention.” 

If only he knew Hvitserk could care less about anything, let alone detention.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hvitserk wasn’t like Ivar. He gained nothing from taunting and teasing. If he did then perhaps he would have mentioned that Bjorn tried getting in contact with him as well. A series of texts from the night before as he was debating over whether or not to send Anya one. 

They were brief as always. Bjorn explained that he missed his little brother and hoped to catch up soon. The last time they crossed paths had to have been the funeral, though Hvitserk wasn’t great at keeping track of the days. There wasn’t much to say to the eldest. They were close enough to spend time in one another’s company. But Hvitserk didn’t open up to much of anyone. Bjorn wasn’t an exception. 

With Ivar’s smug smirk ingrained in Hvitserk’s mind, he found himself texting his eldest brother during lunch. Ignoring his teammates discussing the game on Saturday and whether or not the girls team planned on throwing their annual party with the two teams. 

By the time the end of the day rolled around he made plans with Bjorn after practice. Ubbe and Sigurd barely gave a second glance as he announced he’d be taking one of the cars somewhere. Perhaps it was foolish to be secretive. But the less Ivar had to hold over him the better.

Bjorn remained in Kattegat long after his parent’s divorce. Lagertha moved shortly after he graduated high school, and he spent most of his time at their father’s house with all of them. Despite the expected discomfort he never once complained about spending time with his father’s wife and little brothers. Though his mother often expressed her distaste of it, Bjorn never seemed phased by everything.

Now he lived along the harbor, in a Condo that was probably too small for he, Torvi, and their two kids. But everytime Aslaug mentioned it, the eldest refused to part from the home. He never was home long. Conducting trade negotiations with other companies, he was often out of the country more than he was in it. He could have done something else for a living after Ragnar denounced him as heir. No doubt most would when their little brother was favored over them. But Bjorn never once complained, even when Hvitserk could see the conversation on the tip of his brother’s tongue. 

Torvi answered the door, a puzzled expression on her face. 

In the background he could hear the T.V blaring and the unmistakable whine of a toddler. He remembered when Bjorn moved in, and he’d brag to his brothers about how a new girl would visit him every night. It was a stark contrast now. Suddenly in the blink of an eye they were the ones doing everything they idolized Bjorn over. 

“Hey.” Hvitserk leaned against the doorway. “I’m here to see Bjorn.”

She nodded. “He’s on the patio. Are you staying for dinner?”

Hvitserk entered the threshold and shook his head. “Probably not.” 

“Just let me know if you change your mind.”

He was already halfway toward the back. “Will do.” 

Bjorn was seated at the patio set, his gaze on the waves that led out to the sea. It seemed he didn’t noticed Hvitserk step onto the patio. The wind was stronger by the water, as it whipped past his cheeks. There was a slight chill that came with the evenings. It wouldn’t be long until the fall grew colder and faded to winter. His least favorite season.

“Brother.” 

The eldest turned his head toward Hvitserk, a grin against his lips. He stood from his seat and approached Hvitserk, wrapping an arm around his younger brother. 

“Took you long enough.” He chuckled.

Hvitserk gave a playful shrug. “Some of us had practice.”

Bjorn took his seat, motioning for his little brother to do the same. “I don’t know how you still do that shit. I get nothing out of kicking a ball back and forth for hours on end.” 

Hvitserk never got much out of it either. But he was good at it, so he continued. 

Bjorn reached over the the cooler at his feet and pulled out two beers. He held one out to Hvitserk to took it with greedy hands. The eldest knew him all too well. 

“So,” Hvitserk began, twisting the cap off the bottle. “Why did you want to meet up?”

Bjorn mimicked the same gesture, taking a sip before he answered. “I’ve been gone awhile with work. I figured I’d see what you’re all up to. Not to mention you’re the easiest to do anything with.” He added with a chuckle. “Ubbe is always with his girl, Sigurd never bothers to answer his texts, and Ivar--” 

The unfinished statement hung in the air. A silent reminder of the tension that always brewed between the two. Hvitserk could hardly remember a time when one wasn’t agitating the other. Even with years over Ivar, the youngest still challenged him. 

“Ivar is Ivar.” Hvitserk suggested. 

Bjorn nodded. 

Hvitserk took a long swig of his beer as silence fell between them. Bjorn’s leg shook hard enough beneath the table that it felt as if it was shaking the entire patio. His bright eyes glancing in every which direction. 

“How has everything else been?”

Hvitserk pondered for a moment. Had it been terrible, or just tolerable? “Alright. School sucks, but that’s nothing new. The team is really good this year, we’ll probably go to playoffs.” 

Bjorn nodded as if he was listening, though his gaze still wandered. “And your brothers?”

“They’re all fine.” 

“What about your mother?”

“She’s alright too. Still a drunk.” Hvtiserk snickered. “But she seems happy enough with Ivar enjoying high school so far.”

Bjorn bit down on his lower lip, as if contemplating the words he chose to use next. “I heard Harald Finehair was snooping around.” 

Hvitserk’s stomach sunk. If he could strangle Ivar then he would. He was always right. Even if it may have been too rash to assume so quickly that was what his brother truly wanted of him. Just to ask whether or not Hvitserk’s mother was selling it. He could have been genuinely concerned. Nothing good was ever whispered about Harald in dark corners. But there was still the speck of doubt inside him. Curious if his eldest brother cared only for the sake of his mother.

“Who did you hear that from?” 

Bjorn recoiled, as if he could sense the other’s hesitation. “From Halfdan. We often work with one another.” 

That was new information. Not that Hvitserk ever paid attention to went on. The entire business was about as interesting as watching paint dry. 

“And what does he think about it?” Hvitserk asked. 

“He thinks that our father had connections with various clients throughout the world, and that they could use his routes to trade more than just simple goods.” 

That was a given. Their father was never innocent. “My mother isn’t selling it. She’s just putting up with him until he goes away.” 

Bjorn shook his head, a doubtful chuckle on his lips. “Harald doesn’t just go away, Hvitserk.” 

The younger brother only returned a shrug as he took another sip of his drink. “I don’t know him well. But from my experience people eventually give up.” 

“Maybe in highschool, but this is the real world.” 

_ Did your mother tell you to be worried? _ Hvitserk thought, Ivar’s statements fresh on his mind. The last thing he wanted was to be used as a source of information. 

Hvitserk took his own direction. “Ivar said you would ask me about this stuff.” 

“Of course he did.”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong.” 

Bjorn leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “I spoke to Ubbe this morning. He cares only when he has to. It seemed more like he was hoping your mother would sell it so he didn’t have to deal with it. Ivar’s a kid. Even if he wasn’t he’s greedy. He just wants control of everything. Your house is run under his grip, whether any of you want to admit it or not. Sigurd’s only a year older. Everytime I try to talk to him about these things he groans and says it’s boring.”

“It is boring.” Hvitserk countered. 

“I think,” Bjorn stated. “That you pretend like you don’t care. But you do. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here right now. Or you’d just tell me to shut up. You tell everyone it makes no difference if Aslaug sells, but it does. You know it as well as I. There are plenty of people who wouldn’t take it lightly.” 

“Like Lagertha.”

Hvitserk noticed the hesitation in his brother’s eyes before he continued. “Yes. But there are worse threats out there than my mother.” 

Like the one in England. The one that took his father and put a bullet in his head. Gunned him down as if he were nothing more than a wild animal being hunted. Then there was Sigvard. Though he pulled out years before. 

“I just need to know that none of our lives are going to take a turn for the worst.” 

Hvitserk took another much needed swig from his beer bottle. “My mother won’t sell.”

Bjorn’s words were silent enough that Hvitserk knew he didn’t mean for the other to hear. “You better hope so.” 

“Tell your mother that too.” Hvitserk added. “Aslaug isn’t stupid, she wouldn’t give up everything to Harald.” 

He couldn’t tell whether or not Bjorn believed him. Though Hvitserk wasn’t that convinced with himself either. It wasn’t as if his mother discussed her intentions openly with anyone other than Ivar. It was no wonder the youngest son of Ragnar made Bjorn so uneasy. He was the most unpredictable. 

And perhaps that's why Bjorn chose to speak to Hvitserk. He knew that they had the strongest connection. No matter how much Hvitserk denied it, he was never a natural born leader. A follower that often shared the opinions of those he preferred. Not everyone could be a king, or there wouldn’t be kingdoms to rule over. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated by his traits every once in awhile. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Bjorn decided on a subject change. 

Hvitserk was unsure how to respond. “If you’ll have me?”

The eldest nodded. “Of course.” 

He thought to leave then. But it would only heighten tensions. Bjorn was not his other’s brothers. Though those who pissed off Ivar often regretted it, it couldn’t compare to the shame in Bjorn’s eyes. Perhaps he was a follower. A dog puzzled on where his loyalties belonged.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Hvitserk managed to get through dinner unscathed. Bjorn’s demeanor changed the moment the reentered the condo. Once more he was the laid back brother that Hvitserk was accustomed to. His niece and nephew more distracted by a new guest than eating their meals. Asa’s big eyes never once leaving her young uncle. Torvi teased that they rarely had visitors, and she was just deprived of outside contact. 

The entire situation puzzled him. Though Bjorn may have wanted that. To leave his brother on his toes until the real threat struck. Whatever that would be. There was a tense grip in Bjorn’s hug as Hvitserk parted for the night. A subtle reminder that their conversation wouldn’t be forgotten. 

He longed to tell Ivar everything. But that would only cause more problems than solutions. Bjorn could have been trying to frighten Hvitserk. Force him into preventing the sale by painting images of Harald’s terrible desires. Or he was trying to manipulate him long enough so he wouldn’t expect something from Lagertha. Either way Ivar would eventually learn of Bjorn’s intentions. And once he did the eldest would really have his hands tied. 

Green eyes gazed at the phone in his lap, head leaned against the seat. He should have drove off twenty minutes ago when he said he was. He stared at the contact. Promising himself he’d delete it once he got home, yet Hvitserk couldn’t seem to move the car. He wished he could call her--if only to vent to someone who had nothing to do with any of it. She knew enough to understand, but it wasn’t like venting to Ubbe. Ubbe would only tell Hvitserk he was paranoid if only to get the pressure off himself. 

His brother’s were right about one thing. Ubbe wanted to be in charge as much as Hvitserk wanted to be in group therapy. Aslaug recommended universities locally, but he often pushed the brochures away. In the end he wouldn’t want anything to do with them. Heir or not. 

Staring back down at his phone he thought of his empty promise to Margrethe. If he didn’t call her she would continue to approach him until he did. But he would wait until he got home in the safety of his room. Far enough from Ubbe’s that he wouldn’t be able to hear his little brother whisper false nothings in his ex girlfriend’s ear. 

“I should end it.” He thought aloud. 

Would Anya tell him to end it? Or would she take Margrethe’s side? Tell Hvitserk he was a piece of shit for leading the girl on the past few months. Maybe she’d think he wasn’t better than any of his brothers when it came to girls. Even Bjorn was known to forget about Torvi when he was away for work. Soft giggles often came from his hotel room every morning while they were in Spain.

Maybe he was just as awful, and he needed her to remind him of that. At least that’s what he told himself as he hit the call button.

“Hello?”

Her voice was soft enough that he barely heard it through the receiver. His stomach did a backflip. Maybe she was in a bad mood, or she was overtired from school. Either way when he struggled to say something in return nothing came out. Nothing but a silent pause. 

A sigh filled the phone. “Hello?” Anya repeated. 

_ It’s Hvitserk, I need you to tell me how much I suck. _ But once more not a word left his lips. Frozen like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t believe she answered, or that Ragga had really given her number away. 

He heard a click on the other end. She hung up, though he kept the phone to his ear long after. It wasn’t until the sun began to set and the night took over that he finally started the car. The thoughts flew through his mind on the entire ride home. 

_ It’s Hvitserk. I need to talk to someone, and you seem like the only one who’d understand.  _


	10. Whisky Grievences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for depression and mental health related issues.

The weeks flew by in a blur. No longer did the sun stay out late and nor did bodies litter the sea. Leaves began to fall in thick clusters of orange and crimson. In the mornings when Ragga would pick her up, Anya could see her breath. It wouldn’t be long until snow covered everything in a thick blanket. She was thankful to whatever god there was that the term was passing by in a blink. School couldn’t end quickly enough.

Her mother grew more lenient. No longer staring out the window when Ragga pulled out to see if it was someone else. Or demanding to know where her daughter was every second of the day. Though she still couldn’t shut her door all the way or take too long in the bathroom without her mother barging in.  _ Baby steps.  _ Her doctor over the summer would say.  _ It takes time.  _

It took too much time. Especially when she chose to spend a Friday night curled in her blankets watching a movie. Her mother immediately assumed something was wrong. When in reality her friends were busy. The tension evident between Ragga and Hanna had only worsened as October rolled along. Making it difficult for the group to make plans with one another without either girl making an excuse not to. 

But she refused to harp on drama that didn’t involve her. The summer had changed all of them, and Anya was too far away to witness it. Freydis offered to join her tonight, but Anya didn’t want to hear gossip about how Ragga was spending more time with Ubbe than them. Or that Hanna was too jealous that Ragga was happy and her ex girlfriend dumped her back in June. 

She brought a large spoonful of ice cream to her lips. The chocolate melting the moment it hit her tongue. Ice cream for one was certainly more satisfying than any gossip. They all could yell at her Monday for not being more proactive with making plans, or do it themselves. But god forbid they even did that much. 

Every once and awhile Anya would hear her mother’s silent footsteps as they passed her room. Barely tip toeing in fear that her daughter would hear. Only to be disappointed at the sight of Anya in a sweater, curled up in her blankets with a bowl of ice cream. She didn’t even steal a bottle of wine this time. A choice she now had come to regret. As any cheesy movie wasn’t complete without cheap wine sweet enough to rot your teeth. 

Another rule her mother put in place was what she was allowed to watch. Nothing too violent or depressing, that was too full of triggers. No she had to sit through mindless children’s or romance films. Most of the time the Disney films were more entertaining than the romances. Each one following the same pattern of monotony. Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy and girl fall in love, a conflict arises, they break up, and then sometimes they get back together. It was all the same. 

Anya was currently at the break up stage. The girl curled up on the floor, some sad indie song playing in the background. She was sobbing, though her face wasn’t filled with red blotches and her mascara didn’t run. Sometimes they would cut back to her now ex lover as he drank himself away at the bar. She couldn’t even remember why they had broken up. Something about his  _ dangerous _ lifestyle. Typical.

Before the camera could pan back to the girl’s lamenting, Anya’s lap vibrated. She thought to ignore it. Knowing it’d likely be Ragga or Freya drunk texting her to meet them somewhere she didn’t want to be. Except it continued to vibrate, and she let out a sigh as she lifted her phone from the pile of blankets. 

A puzzled expression filled her face. A number she didn’t recognize filled the screen. Though she recognized it. The same number that called her about a month before, with no one on the other end. Anya’s mother left her paranoid after the stint with Harald at the Bluefish, and she only assumed when no one spoke on the other end it was either a wrong number or someone trying to mess with her. 

She let the call go to voicemail. But seconds later it was vibrating again and she couldn’t help but sigh once more. Her gaze fell to the open doorway, where she couldn’t hear the light footsteps of her mother snooping. Once she figured her mother was back downstairs, Anya swiped at the screen. 

“Hello?”

She almost screamed when there wasn’t a response. 

“Listen,” She began. “Whoever keeps calling me--” 

“Anya? Can you hear me?”

She froze. Mouth open like a foolish cartoon character at the voice that filled the other end. There was no way it could have been who she assumed it was. Though there was no mistaking the high yet husky voice that came through the other end. Not as shrill as Ivar’s or deep as Ubbe’s. 

A hundred questions came to mind, the first being how he got her number. The second more along the lines of why he’d contact her of all people. They hadn’t so much as glanced at one another since their run in at the Blue Fish. It was clear to her they were only meant to catch up and go their separate ways. What else could they possibly discuss? He had a plethora of friends from the football team, and then there was his brothers. It had to be some form of a sick joke. Or a mistake. 

She finally spoke. “Yeah. Yeah I can hear you.” 

“Oh.” His voice rose a few octaves. “Hey, it’s Hvitserk.” 

“Hey.”

She already knew that much. Though he didn’t respond right away. She once thought it impossible to feel awkward tension over the phone. But this conversation happily proved her wrong. 

“I-uh, I just wanted to call you.” She could imagine him rubbing the back of his neck with a free hand. His hair swept up in a knot. “I tried to last week but I couldn’t figure out what to say.”

Nervous laughter from both parties went through the receiver. 

“What could you possibly say to me of all people?” She questioned. 

“I think that’s what I’m struggling with now.”

“Well, what are you doing right now?” 

He paused for a moment before responding. “Just hanging out. My mom’s out of town for the weekend. So my brother’s have full reign of the place.”

Anya shook her head. “So you’re all drunk?” 

“I’m not. At least not yet.” He chuckled. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. All we have is expensive scotch and whiskey. Leaves a nasty hangover.”

“Can’t relate. My mom only has ten dollar wine and cheap schnapps.” 

They both laughed again. Though she could detect the sadness in his tone. Carefully hidden beneath layers of defense. Something she became skilled in over the years. Until it folded over last summer. 

Hvitserk cleared his throat. “What are you doing?” 

A small smirk tugged against Anya’s lips. “Laying in bed, watching some shitty movie.”

“Sounds like a great time.” 

“It really is, you should be jealous.” 

They fell into silence long enough that she thought he might have hung up. Except she could hear his ragged breaths from the other end of the phone. It was strange to think of all people she was speaking to Hvitserk Ragnarsson at nine thirty on a Friday. Surely he’d hang up once he was sick of forcing conversation with her, and get back to drinking with his brothers. 

“Hvitserk?”

“Mm?”

“How did you get my number?” She felt her cheeks grow hot at the question. Though deep down the answer came to her. Anya only wanted to prove she was right.

“Oh, Ragga did.” He answered. “She said I should call you, but like I said I didn’t know what to say. I figured you’d be mad if I did.”

She shook her head, even if he couldn’t see. “Of course I’m not mad.” 

Ragga always mettled. Setting her up with the fist guy that looked Anya up and down. A string of dates that often ended with her going home early and avoiding the guy altogether. They all wanted to get in. Take a girl for all her faults and fix her. But Anya couldn’t be fixed, and even if she could it was insulting to assume she wanted someone else to do it. She didn’t need some teenage boy with a bouquet of weeds and wildflowers to make her smile. 

“And I’m sorry about Ragga. She likes to meddle even when it’s unwarranted.” 

“I didn’t mind.” 

She wasn’t sure what to make of that, but quickly shook it off. Maybe he had more to drink than he let on. 

“Well, still.” She pressed. “Ragga knows better than to throw me at you.” 

Hvitserk’s laughter filled the receiver once more. “Is that how you want to refer it as?” 

“Isn’t that what it is?”

“Maybe she knows we’re both doing nothing on a Friday night and thinks she can help change it.” 

Anya’s breath hitched. Her stomach twisted into a ball of nerves. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, what else are you doing tonight besides watching a movie?” 

“Nothing.”

“Well that’s convenient, because neither am I?”

“Are you asking me out or something?” Anya’s tone harsher than she would have liked. 

Though Hvitserk didn’t seem phased as he replied. “No. I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come over and chill. At least so Ragga’s effort doesn’t go to waste.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“That’s a yes then?” 

She pondered the thought for a moment. A lie would be easy enough. Her mother never figured out about the party at Hanna’s. Or the one she and Freydis went to last weekend at her boyfriends. Or if she did it wasn’t awful enough to scold Anya for. But Hvitserk’s family was a whole other can of worms. The woman may have keeled over if she learned where her daughter desired to go. 

“My mom might kill me.” A sigh fell from her pink lips.

“It’s your call.” 

“I can lie to her. But I don’t have a car.” 

“I’ll come get you.” 

She raised a crimson brow. “You haven’t had too much yet?”

“I told you,” His tone more exasperated this time. “I haven’t drank anything yet.”

“Okay, you can come get me then. I’ll tell her I’m going to Ragga’s or something.” 

If he achieved some kind of triumph in her approval, there was no evidence of it. Maybe it was a silent victory. It wasn’t as if he had to jerk her arm too tightly. Even spending a night with her estranged friend was better than nothing. At least she wouldn’t have to endure another scene of the film, or her mother constantly tip toeing around her room. Maybe fate would be horrible and she’d be outside her room right now. Ready to catch the lie like a spider hunting flies. 

When he spoke again there was a cheerful tune to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Alright. I’ll leave in ten. Do you still live at the same place?” 

“Yeah. Just text me when you get here and I’ll come out.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.” 

“Stan?” 

Before she could tease him further the other line ended. A strange goodbye, but she supposed he already got his wish. 

She rose from the cluster of blankets and placed the ice cream bowl on her nightstand. As tempting as it was to head over in her pajamas, Anya knew better. She could already imagine the rumors he heard about her from group therapy. Some of the kids claiming her mother tried to cut her tongue out. Others whispering that she’d been mugged by some local mobster. Too bad Kattegat wasn’t exciting enough for the mob to crawl around. 

Jeans and a sweater would have to do for the uptight sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. At least Aslaug wouldn’t be there to stare at her with a warning glare. The worst would be Ivar, and group therapy taught her quickly enough how to ignore him without becoming victim to one of his cruel jokes. Maybe Hvitserk wouldn’t even bring her alone. Except the thought of being alone with him was twice as nerve wracking. 

With a sigh she pulled the jeans and sweater from the drawers, and ran through excuses to present to her mother.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“I thought you were staying home tonight?” 

Her mother was curled on the couch. Some home making magazine was strewn across her lap. Filled with professional images of pristine living rooms and overpriced floor mats. Anya would have mocked her for it if she weren’t watching a ridiculous romance film up until then. 

“Ragga wants to go to the movies and then hang out at Hanna’s place.” The lie came out easier than she thought it would. 

Her mother pursed her lips. “Is that code for a party?” 

Anya shook her head. “Contrary to popular belief that’s just code for a movie and girl talk after.” 

She studied the other woman as she shook her head. It was obvious she was contemplating whether or not to say yes. If she didn’t then it would become awkward once Hvitserk pulled up. 

“Do you plan to stay the night?”

“No.”

“Well if you change your mind text me please. Is she coming to get you?”

Anya nodded. “Yes ma’am.” 

A defeated sigh left her mother’s lips. The typical fight usually within her now exhausted after a long day at work. Instead she leaned back into the couch, her gaze falling once more unto the magazine. 

“Be careful. Call if you need anything, and let me know if you change your mind. I mean it, Anya.” 

“Yes mother.” 

“Have fun. Tell Hanna and Ragga I said hello.” 

“I will.” 

Before her mother could say anything more, vibration came from Anya’s back pocket. Hvitserk’s name filled the screen with an unread message. He arrived faster than she thought. But they didn’t live too far from the top of the hill.

_ Here.  _

“Alright mom, I’m heading out.” 

A pained expression filled the other’s face. If she didn’t believe Anya, the girl wouldn’t have been surprised. “Please be careful. It’s getting late too, and the idiots come out at night.”

“I will, for the tenth time I promise.” 

Her mother shook her head. “I hope so. Or we go back to the rules your therapist suggested.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Surprise was all over her face when she came outside. Expecting to see the Land Rover that Ubbe usually drove them to and from school with, it was replaced with a BMW. The license plate was enough to give away that she wasn’t leaving with Ragga if her mother decided to snoop through the windows. The word ASLAUG painted in bright letters. She wondered how many cars were hidden behind the expansive garage doors. Considering Anya never laid eyes on it until that moment. 

With a hurried pace she approached and entered the car. The soft vibration from the bass crawled down her spine as Anya crouched into the seat. His gaze was on her, a vibrant contrast to the dark that filled the car as she shut the door. Hvitserk was dressed in a simple grey tee, and dark jeans. His hair still swept up in a bun, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he ever let it fall loose. It had to be past his shoulders by now. 

A small smile tugged against Hvitserk’s lips. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

Anya reached over to buckle her seatbelt. Nerves at an all time high as her gaze drifted to the front window. But not even the curtains shifted as Hvitserk began to pull out of the driveway. It felt like she was breaking the law, only the stakes felt higher than even that. 

Her eyes fell on him once more. “I thought you drove a Land Rover.” 

“Usually. It’s Ubbe’s favorite so we take it to school. But I’ve always liked this more. I figured I would drive it while mother’s gone.” 

“You’re such a good son.” Her tone was dry.

Hvitserk smirked. “I try.”

The car reversed out of the driveway, and as they fell further away from the house the tension fell from her shoulders. Though there was still anxiety boiling within her belly at the thought of her mother texting her. Screaming through the phone that Anya was a liar, and that she’d be forbidden from going out again. But that text never came. As Hvitserk steered the car out of her neighborhood and toward the looming hill ahead, the chances decreased that her mother would learn the truth. Even then it didn’t stop the small sheen of sweat that grew on her palms, or prevent her blue eyes from constantly gazing back into the rearview mirror. 

Hvitserk cleared his throat to break the silence. “You okay?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. 

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Her voice higher than Anya would have liked. “I just get nervous that my mom’s going to catch my lie.”

“Don’t we all.” 

They both chuckled at that. 

The rest of the ride was in silence. Despite the years apart neither could fill the air with conversation. Perhaps he was as surprised as he was. How long did he ponder over calling her? What forced him to keep her number despite avoiding her every day in school? They rarely looked at one another let alone spoke. Though that was what they were told to do for years on end. Pretend that the other didn’t exist. Forget the past and focus on more than ghosts of the past. 

But she still remembered the route to his house. The forest that surrounded the car on both sides as he drove up the steep incline. In all the years since she’d last been up there, it hadn’t changed. The streetlights were so dim the trees casted an eerie shadow. Ragnar would drive away any builders that wished to construct homes on the hill. He claimed that he wanted the privacy of the surrounding forest. And most of all he didn’t want others to relish in the view that entirely belonged to him. Rumors spread that he went as far as to purchase the land, but she never knew the truth behind it. 

When it came into view, it felt as if Anya had stepped into a dream. The house on the hill, covered with brick and an expansive porch. The grass she imagined was a bright green during the day. As blinding as Hvitserk’s eyes when the light caught them just right. The garage large enough to be the size of most of the homes in Kattegat, that housed several cars. Even though the family often stuck to the same two or three. Light filled the windows, and she could see the chandelier that she would often try to reach for as a child. Constructed especially for Ragnar with all the racks of the deer he hunted during the fall seasons. There was something macabre about it, that left her curious. Even now when dust and forgotten memories clung to it inches below the ceiling. 

“It hasn’t changed a bit.” Anya’s voice as soft as the plush leather beneath her. 

Hvitserk pulled the car into the garage, beside the silver Landrover that Anya recognized everyday from school. “Yeah, my mother’s taste is pretty one dimensional.” 

When her father left, her mother changed the entire house. Ripping up carpets, and staining the wooden railings. Each room reeked of fresh paint and duct tape. She hardly recognized it when old photos came out. Yet Hvtiserk’s was like stepping into a time capsule. As if the house remained the same while everyone within it continued to change. 

Anya followed Hvitserk as he pulled himself from the car. The lights blinking as he pressed the lock button on the key. Her eyes fluttered to every inch of the garage. Noting the various sports cars, and the other land rover that looked brand new beside the one she often saw at school. What could one family possibly need for so many cars? They had enough to drive a new one each day of the week. 

Voices filled her ear as Hvitserk held open the door. They roared in the living room, loud enough that the floor shook. Music blared and the popping filled the air. She could barely make out who was speaking, let alone what they were doing. 

Hvitserk seemed to read her mind. “Xbox!” He called out. “It’s the new Call of Duty.” 

Anya nodded, a small smirk tugging against her lips. “I should have guessed.”

“Ivar, I’m gonna kick your ass if you shoot me again!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t walk right in front of my sniper, Sigurd.” The youngest screeched.

She was relieved that they couldn’t see her from the side door. The stares would be unwelcome, as would be the questions Anya knew that came after she’d leave. Even if it was harmless, there was always in gleam in Ivar’s eye, or suspicion in Sigurd’s tone. Enough to leave her paranoid. Not to mention Ubbe would inform Ragga that Anya came home with Hvitserk at her side. And that was a conversation she wasn’t quite ready to have again yet. 

She must have looked worried, since Hvitserk’s face was crawling with sympathy. “If you want, we can go upstairs.”

_ Sure _ . She thought.  _ Let them find out we were alone in your room. Real innocent.  _

Regardless, she nodded. “Yeah, yeah that’d probably be best.” 

“It’s this way.” He called over his shoulder, starting in the opposite direction of the living room.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

His room was a lost memory in the back of her brain. As children she remembered jumping on the plush mattress, and curling up in the warm covers when the weather grew cold. She recalled sleepovers where Aslaug forced Hvitserk to sleep on the floor even though they were too innocent to realize why. Mornings filled with Ragnar’s pancakes, the melted chocolate chips painting their lips and chin. Her mother would come by and always chat with Aslaug. Even if she always stated they were leaving ‘now’. 

She couldn’t recall if it was always that shade of navy. Or if she remembered the posters of Ronaldo and Erikson. Considering neither were playing football when they were that young. The only element she remembered were the stars on the ceiling. The staple of every child’s bedroom that would glow dimly at night. A cheap representation of the night sky. She was surprised at the very least to find them still up there. Unlike the ones in her room that were ripped off the moment she became too  _ cool _ for it. Patches of paint missing from where they were once stuck. Apparently Hvitserk cared a lot less about what people thought of him. 

He reached into one of the bottom desk drawers, pulling out a dark bottle a liquor. From her position on the edge of the bed it looked to Anya like whiskey. It would surprise her either, considering most young men enjoyed pretending like they could stomach the smokey liquor. When vodka was always easier to force down. 

“I don’t have glasses so I hope you’re not weird about sharing.” 

Anya rolled her eyes. “Are you gonna give me cooties?” 

A gleam of humor filled his gaze. “Maybe.” 

He brought the bottle to thin lips. A large swig filled Hvitserk’s mouth, and she just caught the slight flinch in his body. Even he couldn’t withstand the fire that came with a swig of whiskey. 

Hvitserk fell onto the bed beside her, his back against the plush comforter. He held the bottle to her in a silent invitation.

Anya took a quick swig. Unlike the alcohol she and her friends often raided from her parent’s liquor cabinets,this was rich. It went down her throat smoothly. The smoky scent of it a stark contrast from the bleach scent that often came from the vodka she frequented. It left a trail of fire down her throat, and heat pooled into her belly. A smart choice for the cool, fall night. 

They passed the time for awhile simply drinking. The bottle traveling from her hand to his and back again. Each time the bottle returned to Anya it felt significantly lighter then when they began. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. It seemed foolish to ask about school or the team. She could care less about either, and in a way she knew that he did too. The same lethargic scowl filled his face as her’s when they roamed the halls.

She leaned back into the mattress beside him, convincing herself through alcohol stained thoughts that it was easier to pass the bottle that way. 

It appeared to stir enough of a reaction out of him, that he rose one pale brow as their gazes met. 

She shoved the bottle into his chest. “What?”

He shook his head, leaning up to take a swig of the liquor. “Nothing.” 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” 

Hvitserk’s lips tugged into a smirk against the tip of the bottle, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Does it have to necessarily be something? Can I not just watch you?” He pushed the bottle to her. 

She took it with eager fingers and grasped the neck of it. Her face grew hot, crimson staining the apples of her cheeks. Normally she would have contemplated her thoughts, but the whisky ruined that. Instead leaving her brain a bundled mess of broken sentences. 

Her blue eyed gaze leaned toward the ceiling, the stars above carrying an iridescent glow as the night wore on. “I remember looking at these for hours when I used to come over.” 

Hvitserk caught her light musings, the grin on his lips growing by the second. “You used to boast that you’d be an astronaut and leave the rest of us on Earth to suffer.”

“It always was a perfect plan.” 

His laughter reminded her of rustling leaves as it filled the air. “And I always said you would get gobbled up by martians.” 

“Maybe I would have.” Her laughter subsided. “That doesn’t sound like the worst death in the world.”

“Yeah, but what if they do it slowly?” He argued. “It’s much faster to just fall into the void of space and die then to be eaten.” 

Anya shook her head of red curls. “There’s always worse ways to die on Earth.”

“That’s true.” He pondered the different scenarios with another gulp of whisky. “I’d take being sucked in a black hole over murder.” 

Anya shuddered. “Too much blood.” 

“Too much pain.” 

This time she shifted, her elbow resting upward and hand supporting her cheek. Anya took the bottle from him with her free hand and took more than the usual mouthful. While she did this her head shook profusely. As if she was using the liquid courage to prepare herself for her next statement. “Life is always more painful than dying.” 

She could tell from his expression that Hvitserk longed to argue. Both their minds trailed back to years before on the ice. There was a sharp pain when the frozen waters kissed their legs. The heavy trousers no match for the frigid embrace of what laid below. The nausea and burning that filled their lungs with each struggling breath. But it was only momentary. Before their bodies grew numb and lips painted a bright shade of blue. 

Anya continued, her voice as cold as the ice. “Sometimes I wish Siggy never saw that hole in the sea.” Her lip trembled as if she were still down below. The whisky only encouraged the words to dance off her tongue. “Most times I wish she kept walking, and didn’t pull us out.”

By the time the woman arrived with shallow breaths and loud screams for help they were already numb. Two floating bodies waiting for the sea to claim them. Only the chilling embrace of the water was traded for blasting heat of an ambulance. Only one casualty occurred that day, and it was neither Hvitserk or Anya. 

She expected the look of surprise that littered his eyes, the way he held back from saying anything at first. Suddenly a conversation on space turned into a seminar on death. How macabre she still was even months after the doctor said Anya was well.

But what she didn’t expect, was what Hvitserk said next. “I wish she didn’t either.” 

The statement floated in the air. This time it was her turn to appear stricken. It shouldn’t have been such a shock. Hvitserk with his dark gaze and few words. The brother who spent more time in a dark corner with a random girl than jumping around carefree. And when that Hvitserk did appear, it wasn’t without the courage of alcohol, or the teasing of his brothers. He himself couldn’t remember the last time he was carefree and sarcastic. Perhaps he always was--if only to act as a mask. A mask that everyone could see through like a woman’s slip, but he refused to remove it. 

Anya handed him the bottle, and he nearly drank it dry before tossing it to the floor. His expression became a summer storm. Eyes so clouded with anger and grief they looked more black than green. 

She couldn’t find the words to say. They were no more than strangers anymore. Two people pulled apart by tragedy and what followed. She recalled the case worker coming to their home after the ice incident. The woman pried and pushed for every little mistake Anya’s parents ever made. Anything to prove they were negligent enough not to notice their daughter wander off on open ice. Then her mother screaming that she wanted nothing to do with any of it anymore. Her father kissing Anya goodnight and remaining nothing but a memory by morning. Fleeing the country and settling in Iceland. His ties to Ragnar Lothbrok severed and their partnership a mess someone else could take over.

The only person she wanted to talk to about it was Hvitserk. But when Anya asked her mother she refused. They were a toxic family, and her mother wouldn’t associate with them anymore. Not after Aslaug left her daughter alone on the ice, and nearly had Anya taken away by social workers. Not after letting Siggy drown and refusing to say a thing when Sigvard left. 

But no one ever understood the sadness that lingered like an old friend. No one else made her eyes light up the same way, or took her on so many adventures. Even just running through the forest turned into a journey in some far away land. That day they fell through the ice changed everything. Death came to take them and they escaped. So they’d spend the rest of their lives paying the price. 

“I called you those other times because I thought you’d understand.” Hvitserk interrupted, finding his voice. “Nothing matters anymore. Nothing has for a long time. I wake up and I feel as numb as I did when I went to bed. My father’s death fucked up everyone but I can’t remember a time before that when I wasn’t sad. It just lingers there and--I don’t know it just never goes away.” 

His lips trembled and eyes stung. There was a relief that came with a confession but Anya could tell that it was only the surface. There was so much she wanted to tell him, yet something held back. Perhaps the fear that she’d tell him everything that happened last summer and he’d realize how much more screwed up she was than him. He’d see it and ignore just as they had ignored each other for years. 

Her hand found his, pale fingers intertwining in a web until they were locked against one another. When she squeezed he squeezed back. A silent recognition of every word he said. His hand was larger than hers, but it shook as if it belonged to a child. 

“Some people are always sad.” She whispered. Her psychiatrist called it depression, but she hated that word more than anything. Eternal sorrow was more than just a single word. “It just happens. One day it was never there, the next it’s consuming you like a second skin.” 

“But when does it stop?” 

“Sometimes it never does. You learn to tolerate it the way you do with anything else.” 

She could tell by the small frown produced by his lips that it wasn’t the answer he wished to hear. “I guess you’re right.”

They laid there awhile. Neither said a thing, the only noise came from the rowdy crowd below. The group blissfully unaware of the heavy weight that lingered above. She longed to ask him where that sadness came from. What had happened in the years that hardened him like stone. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Their hands remained in an embrace, neither desiring to pull away from the warmth of one another. The ceiling spun above, the constellations almost flying. Though Anya knew that had to be from the whisky. 

Her hair was tugged slightly. Anya’s gaze shifted to the body beside her, noticing the light trace of Hvitserk’s fingers through her crimson curls. His gaze was once more unreadable. She suddenly regretted not taking more time into her appearance, knowing how the strands of hair easily knotted and matted. But if it bothered Hvitserk he didn’t hint it in any way. Her breath hitched as his grasp left her hair and ghostly fingers caressed her cheek. She could smell the scent of whiskey and cigarettes on his breath. When did they linger closer to one another? How had their bodies gotten close enough to feel the heat radiating off one another?

“Hvitserk?” Her voice out of breath.

It took a few moments before the familiar sound of “hmm”, left his lips. 

“If you ever need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. I know my mom has that stupid rule, and I don’t talk much in school anymore--” She paused, the statement came out more like word vomit than she wished it to. “But I get it. And it might be the whisky talking, but I don’t want anyone else to feel as alone as I have all these years. It’s a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” 

He leaned in closer. Close enough that the breath was knocked from Anya’s lungs, and she could see every fine hair above his lip. It’d been over a year since she’d been kissed, and longer since she slept with anyone. 

There were enough rumors about Hvitserk Ragnarsson that everyone in the school was aware of who he was. But even in that moment she didn’t see the boy who got with every girl he could. She saw the broken one that was desperate for any form of connection. 

It was tempting enough to close the space between them. She wondered if his lips were as soft as they appeared. If his hair would reach his shoulders if Anya pulled the bun loose up top his head. But where he felt cracks in his flesh she was already shattered. It would only hurt him more if she gave in. No one wanted to deal with someone who already felt like they were dead. 

Anya pulled back then, and didn’t miss the visible flinch of Hvitserk’s body. As if he’d been slapped across the face. He’d understand in the morning. When they were no longer fueled by emotions and whisky and the true nature of their statements seeped through. He’d see why she kept anyone at arms length.

He rolled onto his back and pulled his hand out of her grasp. A pang of longing filled her at the sudden emptiness that was left there. She mimicked his position and found her gaze once more on the plastic stars above. 

“I’m sorry.” She lamented.

He shook his head. “Don’t be, we’re drunk. Shit happens unless someone gains control of their senses.” 

If only she hadn’t though. Would they be tangled in one another like the knots in her hair? “I meant what I said, Hvitserk. You can always come to me.”

“Thank you.”

Whether he actually took her offer was out of her control. But it was an open invitation. To no longer be the strangers that passed by one another with blank faces in the hallway. But rather ignore the barriers that kept them apart and find some kind of friendship amongst all the grief. If she could be at least that for him, perhaps Anya hadn’t failed entirely. 

Hvitserk’s voice filled the air once more, still holding a gloomy undertone. “I should drive you home now, but I’m afraid we wouldn’t even make it out of the driveway.”

Anya nodded in agreement. Her mother would have a fit regardless if she came home in a drunken haze smelling like liquor and stumbling up the stairs. “I’ll text my mom and say I’m coming home tomorrow.” 

She didn’t mean to invite herself to stay the night, except it was laid out practically with an open invitation. The only other options were his brother’s who were likely just as drunk and would demand an explanation. Or her friends who would demand the same even if they were sober enough to pick her up.  

Hvitserk didn’t appear to mind her solution. “I’ll give you the bed, and I’ll take the floor.” 

It should have been the other way around. Or at least throw her in one of the guest rooms on the first floor. But that would have risked running into Ivar when he eventually went to bed. So perhaps it was best that Anya stayed in Hvitserk’s room. Even if it meant reducing him to a pillow and blanket on the floor.

Within a half hour they started preparing for bed. The clock read one thirty when Anya texted her mother that she’d be sleeping at Ragga’s. A pang of guilt filled her at the lie, but she buried it. Hvitserk gave her sweat shorts and a tee shirt to sleep in. While she changed he went to the bathroom to do the same. Their small moments of intimacy already a memory etched into her skin where his fingers rested. 

_ You’re drunk, snap out of it. _ She told herself for the tenth time. 

When Hvitserk returned she was laying on the bed, covers tucked up past her elbows. Beneath the covers laid more secrets than she was ready to share just yet. They jutted out from her arms like broken memories, and she knew she’d have to hide them in the morning before he woke. Or make some bullshit excuse as she did when Ragga noticed them just a month before. 

She listened to the even breathing below, and figured he passed out before his head even hit the pillow. But her gaze remained on the stars above even long after the voices grew silent below and  the alarm clock beside his bed read three am. 

By four her eyelids grew heavy and the whisky had long worn off. The image of his face inches from hers wouldn’t fade no matter how much she tried to focus on other things. Like a broken record it played in her mind over and over again until sleep finally claimed her.    
  
  
  



	11. Another Murder

It was still dark when firm arms shook her awake. It was a foreign touch, harsh and frenzied. Cedarwood filled her senses. A scent so strong, it became a blanket enveloping her. 

But it was not the scent of Hvitserk. He was honey whisky and cigarette smoke. Something she picked up whenever their bodies passed one another in the halls or between desk rows at group therapy. 

This was too clean, too careful. It reminded Anya of her father. The crisp smell that wafted through a room even hours after spraying it. That belonged to someone tidied up, wrapped in a careful ribbon of appearance. 

Who she expected it to be was unknown, an answer lost through lack of sleep. But there was no lack in surprise when Anya’s eyes opened to the sight of Ubbe above her.

Her eyes became saucers, wide and alarmed. While his only filled with confusion and disappointment.

“Anya?” 

“Hmm?” Her voice was hoarse.

Ubbe’s gaze wandered the dark room. “Where is my brother?” 

His tone was filled with impatience. Anxiety crept through the perfect facade of the laid back protector. Anya would have pitied him, had she been more awake.

Instead she pointed toward the floor. “He’s down there.”

Ubbe wasted no time fumbling toward Hvitserk’s form. It was as if she’d suddenly become invisible to the other boy. Or she was merely a victim of circumstance, lying in Ubbe’s brother’s bed. And where Ubbe expected to come across Hvitserk with his disheveled hair and breath reeking of liquor, he found her instead.

She could feel Ragga’s smirk when the knowledge came. How she’d poke and prod until Anya spilled every secret  passed between them. Except she couldn’t. For there were no secrets to share other than the ones that remained like a silent gun between them.

“Hvitserk!” Ubbe hissed. His harms shook the sleeping form on the floor with more force than she expected.

There was nothing but a moan in return. 

Ubbe shoved harder this time. “Hvitserk!” 

Hvitserk’s head flew up in alarm. Were it different circumstances she may have laughed from the comedy of it. The way his head bopped like a cartoon, and his eyes narrowed into slits. 

“What?” He hissed.

Ubbe was noticeably taken aback. For Ivar it was expected. The unpredictable aggression that leapt out like a lion attacking its prey. But Hvitserk was a different breed. Where Ivar was fire, he was ice. Slow, cold, and tormented. Lying there with little threat, but just as dangerous. It appeared his brother forgot about it until that moment. 

Ubbe’s voice slightly faltered. “It’s mother.” 

Anya can tell by the dramatic groan that their mother is the last concern for the middle son. “What now? Did she get kicked out of her hotel for drinking too much again?” 

“No.” Ubbe’s rib cage convulses with every breath. As if every breath comes with a swift knife to the ribs. “She’s dead.” 

_ Dead.  _ It had to be a mistake. Too much whisky had caused her brain to go into haywire. Aslaug was out of town, they were in Hvitserk’s room fast asleep. The other boys passed out on the stark couches in the living room. 

But it isn’t a dream, and the silence that falls within the room is enough confirmation. This time it’s difficult to decipher where the ragged breathing originates. If it’s Ubbe, with grieving words on his tongue and news he never prepared for. Or Hvitserk, who still felt the buzz of whisky and suddenly needed more. 

Hvitserk’s voice was still cracked with sleep. “You’re lying.”

Ubbe shook his head, gaze trained on the ground. “Why would I lie?” 

Then, as if on cue, a piercing wail fills the air. The raw shrill was enough to make Anya sit up in surprise. Ubbe’s face fell into his palms while more screams ensued. Only one human being was capable of that amount of grief. Only one could fester that rage and anguish all in one cry. 

_ Ivar _ . 

Her gaze fell to Hvitserk. His expression stone. Grief was a fickle mistress, she affected everyone in their own awful way. She thought back to all those years ago, her mother’s rage over Anya’s hypothermia, and Anya’s father staring at the ground hoping it would swallow him whole. 

_ Hvitserk would like to sink into the ground right now _ . She thought.  _ He’d love to disappear.  _

As if he could hear Anya’s thoughts, suddenly Hvitserk’s gaze was trained on her. His mouth nothing but a frown as another scream fills the air. Far below a voice snaps back with more venom than remorse. Sigurd, who probably was more inconvenienced by Ivar’s mood than the state of their mother. And while Ubbe flinched with every shout, Hvitserk didn’t falter. The only evidence of grief in his eyes.

How sad they were, staring right through her. She saw death, grief, neglect, and everything in between. Nothing but a sad boy wearing the skin of young man. She felt the urge to rise from her place, and pull him into her. Cocoon him in safety and protect him from everything that befell her. Like staring into a mirror, she saw nothing but an identical downward spiral. 

Except she didn’t rise from her place in the bed. Seconds later Ubbe does it for her, his hand extended toward his brother. “We have to go.” 

Hvitserk doesn’t take his eyes off her, Ubbe invisible beside him. 

“Hvitserk.” His brother pressed.

“I don’t want to go.” 

Ubbe looks down at Hvitserk, then to Anya. Her cheeks flare with rogue. His stare is muddled with the same grief, but held together with a stronger foundation. He doesn’t harbor the same demons as his little brothers. With every stumble he can rise like before with just another scar. But Hvitserk wasn’t a scar, he was a gaping wound that refused to close. 

Anya motions toward the door. “You should go.” It was a strange thing to say, when it wasn’t her room. Nor was it her place to demand he leave. But there was no going back, the misery wouldn’t fade. Now he’d have to face it like an old friend, and hope he didn’t end up like her. 

The sound of a door slams below. Voices filled the foyer, and Ivar’s sobs quickly overpowered them. Then the sound of hurried footsteps fill the staircase outside the door, while the three wait with bated breath. 

Sigurd blew through the door like a hurricane. “Guys we have to get the hell out of here, now. Ivar’s a fucking mess.” But none of them move, which only results in a light growl from the Ragnarsson. “Ubbe, Hvitserk come on Floki’s here for I--”

Anya already knew she was the cause of silence. But she didn’t care, for her eyes were still locked on Hvitserk. A silent plea filled them, begging him to go.  _ The damage is already done. I’ll be here when you get back. I can make the pain go away. _

She couldn’t do that, not when her own mental illness festered and rotted inside her.  _ But I can try. For him I can try. _

“I’m not even going to ask.” Sigurd shook his head. “We need to leave, now.”

It’s the final warning. Sigurd was a dragon, angry and unpredictable. Though at that moment he looked more exhausted than anything. Perhaps that was the only thing sparing her from his humiliation. The issue of their mother more pertinent.

“Go.” She urged again, when he didn’t rise. 

It was a gentle command, but nonetheless it worked beyond Ubbe’s impatience and Sigurd’s apathy. Hvitserk nodded solemnly and rose to his feet. He pulled the pair of jeans from earlier in the night off the floor and draped them over his arm. 

“I have to change, then we’ll go.” It was a command, or at least the closest to a command that Hvitserk could conjure. 

Sigurd withdrew from the doorframe. “Be ready in five.” 

Ubbe follows, with one last glance of his piercing blue eyes. It left a chill down her spine. More accusatory than neutral. A  _ why are you here,  _ instead of  _ oh, you’re here.  _

He pulls the denim over his legs, and she instinctively looks anywhere but straight ahead. There is no intimacy in the action, especially when he was down to just a shirt and boxers seconds before. But she can’t shake the warmth in her cheeks or the way her hands shake. Anya wasn’t meant to see him like this. 

“Anya.” His voice reminded her of a broken melody. “Go back to sleep.” 

She found his gaze, praying that the darkness covered her blush. “But what about you?”

“I’ll be okay.” 

“Are you sure?”

“No.” He paused. “But I promise I’ll be back.” 

That had to be enough for now. A silent promise that he wouldn’t do anything until he returned. 

She nodded. “Okay.”

For the first time he smiled. It was broken, the edge of his lips trembled under the unbearable weight of grief. His eyes were still dull and dead. Another parallel. Two broken things trying to stay intact for one another. 

“Go to sleep.” He repeated, and headed for the door. It shut behind him leaving nothing but painful silence in its wake. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

When she woke again, light filled the bedroom. Her eyes crusted with sleep. Throat parched and head pounding like a drum. It could have been one hour or six, for her body still felt as if it’d been run over by a truck. 

On instinct she reached for her phone tangled in the navy sheets. Riddled still with exhaustion her eyes focused on the blurred sight of the time. 11:30am. Below that was two texts from her mother, and six from Ragga. Then one more from a name that forced her stomach to drop.

_ Hvitserk.  _

What occured hours before rushed back. Ubbe rushing into his room in a frenzy. Hvitserk resembling a stone statue, filled with grief and indifference. Free of the woman who burdened him with a lack of favoritism, yet an orphan all the same. Belonging neither to his mother or father, their family suddenly became a greater enigma. Two parents gone just months apart. It was something out of a movie.

With hesitance, she opened her messages. The one from her mother a grouchy complaint that Anya could have waited before the middle of the night to inform her of her intentions. Another arrived an hour before, a simple question of when she’d be coming home. But that was a question she didn’t have the answer too.  _ Whenever the boy you forbade me to see comes back from collecting his dead mother.  _ Instead she left it blank. 

Ragga’s are more frenzied. A collection of thoughts and concerns vomited through her polished fingertips. Each text brought more dread than the previous. A trio of information she also didn’t have an explanation for.

_ Ubbe said you were sleeping there??? ((; I see Hvitserk took my advice.  _

_ You better tell me what happened, you dirty girl!  _

_ WHAT HAPPENED I NEED TO KNOW  _

_ What’s up with their mom?? Ubbe isn’t answering me now.  _

_ It’s on the news. They’re saying someone’s dead.  _

_ ANYA _

It’s impossible to conjure a reasonable reply to any of it. Did she begin with lying to her mother and almost kissing Hvitserk? Admitting that her stomach was performing backflips at the thought of his eyes on her. Then she’d have to go on how the night was interrupted by a murder--supposedly. A string of gossip waiting to be spread. She’d have none of it. 

There was only one thing that garnered her attention in that moment. Her mind racing with the image of him. Was he already knee deep into a bottle to numb the pain? Or was he once more the stoic boy from group therapy that hardly said a word? If Ivar was with him, she imagined it would be the latter. The sound of his screams left a persistent ring in her ear that refused to fade. 

Her eyes fell onto the phone screen: 

_ Ubbe wasn’t lying. You don’t have to wait up for me. I’m sorry--H _

Her fingers pressed into the screen robotically. 

_ Don’t apologize. I’m here if you need to talk.  _

It was difficult to pair emotions with thoughts. What could she say? Words didn’t fix grief, nothing did. Aslaug’s death was another suitcase of baggage for Hvitserk to lug behind him. Sigvard had been the same thing to her, in his own way. 

Her phone buzzed.  _ There aren’t enough hours in the day.  _

A sigh escaped Anya’s lips as the reply fell between her thumbs.  _ There are for me.  _

The phone fell back onto the sheets.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Sometime later, though it was difficult to tell exactly when, Anya wandered outside Hvitserk’s room. The sun remained in the same position in the sky, as if time stopped all together from the moment she woke. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to leave the safety of his room. Perhaps the restlessness of the unknown. Of what was transpiring while she sat on her hands. It was either wander, or slowly fall into the black hole of insanity. And she already fell down it once before. 

She slipped from the room, silent as a mouse. Not a creak of the floorboards or distant whispers greeted her. A house as this one was unsettling in its current state. Large homes should have been built for many bodies, constant activity. But like most mansions that littered the world, this one was painfully mute. The only evidence of its inhabitants remained a single muddy footprint on the white carpet beneath Anya’s feet. Undoubtedly from Ubbe rushing to wake his little brother hours before. _  
_ Like goldilocks she wandered through the upstairs hall. An unknown intruder, poking and prodding through the ghosts of Ragnar Lothbrok’s family. The first bedroom that came into view was Ubbe’s, just across the hall from Hvitserk’s. From the entryway it was clearly lived in. The comforter rumpled, and various articles of clothing strewn on the floor. A sports bag rested on a spinning chair. The desk it was positioned in front of held a laptop that still remained open, as well as several open notebooks. Like a photograph it was pure still life. As if someone snatched Ubbe out of the shot at the last second.

The room to the right of Ubbe’s belonged to Sigurd. To refer to it as a mess was putting it lightly. A scent that was often associated with late night parties sat in the space. The floor invisible amongst the chaos of clothes, books, shoes, and other various items. On his nightstand sat a bong. A symbol of anarchy more than anything else. A message to his mother:  _ I can keep this out here all I want, and you won’t do a thing.  _

There were two other guest rooms on the opposite end of the hallway. Painfully sterile with the smell of windex. Anya couldn’t imagine anyone stepping foot in them, let alone staying as a guest. After that she stumbled upon the master. This was a literal statement, considering upon opening the door she tripped over a bottle of empty red wine. 

Several bottles of the same expensive brand were strewn across the carpet. Some leaving red droplets in the white of the carpet. Oddly enough they carried the image of blood that Anya couldn’t shake. How fitting, that she should come across the phenomenon in a dead woman’s room. The bed was freshly made, and the sheets matched the stark white of the carpet. A painful monotone that blended from the floor, to the furniture, to the walls. Even the ceiling was a brilliant shade of egg shell.

It felt wrong to walk through a dead person’s room. She wondered if that’s how her own mother felt after the incident. Like walking through a shell that meant nothing anymore. 

Three more doors were in the room. One led to a closet the size of her bedroom, another to a bathroom. The third led to a different room altogether. 

Where the bedroom was stark white, this room a pale pink. The furniture various shades of cream and gold. A desk with a computer stood firmly in the middle, a desk chair on one side and two plush ones on the other. Photos of various parts of the world tastefully decorated the walls. It was Aslaug in a nutshell; beautiful and impersonal. 

Rounding the desk Anya noticed a lone frame occupying a space between the desktop monitor and a pencil case. Unsurprisingly wicked eyes that resembled ice stared back at her. Ivar’s smile more devious than innocent. No other pictures of the other sons filled the desk, and Anya felt frustration for them. As if the only one that mattered was the one who caused the most grief.

Her mother once said guilt could work wonders on just about anyone. It drove her father to another country, and left Hvitserk swimming in bottles of liquor. But Aslaug’s guilt was an emotion she couldn’t control. So much so that she smothered her youngest with it, while the rest stood out in the rain.

She leaned in to get a closer look at the photo, her torso pressed against the computer mouse. And in seconds the dark screen came to life in front of her. Anya jumped in surprise. But while the screen should have been locked, it wasn’t. Nothing but a string of emails stared back at her in temptation. Something she wasn’t supposed to find.

A smart girl would have turned around. A smart girl would have went back into Hvitserk’s room and waited for him to come home, or leave the house altogether. But in that moment she wasn’t smart. She was curious, impulsive, and a little resentful of the woman who’s neglect almost led Anya to her death. 

Her eyes fell on the screen:

_ Aslaug, _

_ I believe I told you before, it’s Harald not Mr. Finehair. You see, I consider you and your late husband to be friends of mine, and Mr. Finehair is much too formal for a conversation between friends. _

_ As I’ve stated before I will not keep this offer open for much longer. I understand you wish to seek advice, but I would suggest against it. The only thing keeping you attached to this business is your sons, and they will never be ready for this the way Ragnar once was.  _

_ Once again the offer is in cash. It’s more than enough for your family to remain comfortable on top of their inheritance. I stress that if you wish to make the deal we do it now, before trouble interrupts us.  _

_ Think about it, I believe you’ll make the right decision. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Harald Finehair  _

 

_ Harald,  _

_ You obviously conduct more personal business than I’ve ever had to. But I guess I could make an exception to my formalities just this once. _

_ I understand your concern, but I must discuss this decision with the board before you receive an answer. It would look reckless if I didn’t do so otherwise. As far as my sons go I do want them to have an opportunity to follow in their father’s footsteps. They are  _ _ young _ _. No boy in his teens is ready to head a company, which is why I’m doing it for them until Ubbe is ready.  _

_ I have yet to receive conflict or threats from outside this arrangement and I do hope it will continue that way. I will have an answer for you on Monday when I return. Thank you. _

_ Best, _

_ Aslaug _

 

_ Aslaug, _

_ I understand their concern with selling. The board’s and the boys’. As I said previously you won’t get a better deal than this one.  _

_ Forgive me for being forward, But I fear Ubbe isn’t as interested in leading as you’d like him to be. He seems more concerned about girls and college. But as you said he’s young, maybe he’ll grow up. I wouldn’t count on it though.  _

_ The vipers are slithering through the grass, waiting for the opportunity to strike. I urge you not to leave but if you already have then watch your ankles. If others come through with their threats, then this will be a bigger mess than you could have ever imagined.  _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Harald Finehair  _

_ Ps: If anything should happen, I am not an enemy. I can provide assistance. _

Anya stared at the screen. Her gaze wide with fear and newfound knowledge. It wasn’t meant for her prying eyes. It felt wrong, learning all the secrets she didn’t quite understand. 

She pulled away from the desk, guilt consuming her. Yet Anya couldn’t forget the exchange between the two. Her mother warned of Harald’s often ill intentions. Yet he warned Aslaug several times of a greater threat than himself.

_ The vipers are slithering through the grass, waiting for the opportunity to strike. _

Was Harald another viper taking a different approach? Warn of all the others, and take the bounty for himself. He confessed the mess that would come if Aslaug were harmed. And now it seemed, that it would all unravel from there. 

And who were the others? Why did they wait for the opportune time to take down the widow of Ragnar Lothbrok?

There was always a side of her, one buried beneath the depths of her other problems, that suspected more occurred in their town than just trade. Or at least if it was just trade, it came with a fumbling quest for power. Her father had been apart of it once and perhaps he still was. A moving cog in the everpresent machine. This was only proof that there was more, and Hvitserk had walked right into it.

She shook her head, retreating from the room.  _ Too much too much too much.  _ Her chest clenched, heaving against the solid bone of her ribcage. Hands slick with sweat and breaths fast and ragged.  _ Too much. _

In a matter of seconds she stripped off Hvitserk’s clothing and donned her own from the previous night. Guilt flooded her senses when she realized what she was doing. Not running, running sounded too terrible. She was merely retreating. Seeking the comfort of her home that wasn’t filled with snakes and poison. Hvitserk could always find her there, if he needed her at all.

_ Get out get out get out. _

She wanted to call Ragga. Her mother couldn’t pick her up, that would only resurface the distrust she worked so hard to erase. But Ragga would go on about Hvitserk and murder. Neither conversation was one she desired to have. 

The walk would be long, but she didn’t live too far from the hill. Her house belong to one of the surrounding developments at the bottom. It was the only solid option. She might even run if it meant shaking the feeling of death and dread. 

Anya’s feet hit the bottom of the stairs. The expansive first floor reminded her more of a maze than a home. In one direction faced a wing of rooms, and in another direction the living area and dining room. If she walked straight, it would lead her right to the kitchen. A room she frequented often as a child, as well as the living room. 

The entryway to the front door stood behind her. Void of anyone else to keep her from leaving. Her fingers worked rapidly on the laces of her sneakers. Her mind focused on vipers, death, and the boy who haunted her thoughts like a rotting plague. 

If she hadn’t been so caught up in her thoughts, Anya may have heard the footsteps. She may have noticed the way a tall shadow lingered over her crouched form. She would have seen the honey blonde tresses that were overgrown and pulled back. She would have known his face held more threat than welcome. But Anya hadn’t seen any of that. Not until a gruff voice filled the air. 

“And who are you?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



End file.
